^ 

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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


!.l 


Uim    125 

■so  ^^"     I^^B 

■tt  lii   12.2 
1^    12.0 


us 

lit 

lit 


IL25  HI  1.4 


III 


1.6 


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PhotDgraiJiic 

Sdaices 

Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WIBSTIR,N.Y.  M5M 

(716)  972-4503 


>  X  4 


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1  ^ 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  historiquas 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notos/Notas  tochniquas  at  bibliographiquas 


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n 

D 
D 
D 

n 

D 

0 

D 
D 


D 


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10X 

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18X 

22X 

26X 

aox 

J 

H 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


T 


Th«  copy  film«d  h«r«  has  b««n  r«produc«d  thanks 
to  th«  ganarosity  of: 

D.  B.  Wcldon  Library 
Univertity  of  Wettom  Ontario 


L'axamplaira  filmA  fut  raproduit  grica  h  la 
g4n4rosit*  da: 

D.  B.  Waldon  Library 
University  of  Western  Ontario 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  mn  tha  baat  quality 
posaibia  eonaidaring  tha  condition  and  iagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  icaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apacificationa. 


Laa  imagaa  suhrantaa  ont  M  raproduitas  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattati  da  l'axamplaira  fiimi,  at  an 
conformi^iA  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 


Original  copiaa  in  printad  papar  covara  ara  fllmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  t  wr  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  iliuatratad  impraa- 
sion,  or  tha  bacic  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  iliuatratad  impraa- 
sion,  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuakratad  impraaaion. 


Laa  axamplairaa  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  ^n 
papiar  aat  imprimAa  sont  filmi    9n  comman9ant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
darniira  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraaaion  ou  d'iilustration.  soit  par  la  sacond 
plat,  salon  la  caa.  Toua  laa  autras  axamplairaa 
originaux  sont  fiimto  an  commandant  par  la 
pramiAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraaaion  ou  d'iilustration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  darnlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  taila 
amprainta. 


Tha  laat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microficha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  —^>(  moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"}, or  tha  symbol  y  (moaning  "END"), 
whichavar  appiiaa. 


Un  daa  symbolaa  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
darnlAra  imaga  da  chaqua  microficha.  salon  la 
caa:  la  symboia  -^  signifia  "A  SUIVRE",  la 
aymbola  ▼  signifia  "FIN". 


Mapa.  plataa.  charts,  ate.  may  ba  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduct^on  latioa.  Thoaa  too  iarga  to  ba 
antiraly  includad  in  ona  axpoaura  ara  filmad 
baginning  in  tha  uppar  laft  hand  comar.  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  framaa  aa 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrama  illuatrata  tha 
mathod: 


Laa  cartaa,  planchas.  tablaaux.  ate.  pauvant  Atra 
filmAa  A  das  taux  da  rAduction  diff Arants. 
Lorsqua  la  documant  aat  trop  grand  pour  Atra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  ciichA.  11  aat  filmA  A  partir 
da  i'angia  supAriaur  gaucha.  da  gaucha  A  droita. 
at  da  haut  an  baa.  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'imagaa  nAcaaaaira.  ilaa  diagrammas  suivants 
illustrant  la  mAthoda. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

^.'. 


■'^■' ^'cs'0^p!:ttX'^--''''--'''-':'- ''  '■^:'A;'*^r:i 


*  ■  -(ii*;  ■',  ■,"'  ■  V-^  ,i;  ■ 


•  ..  ■:^:t:t%>%:t,'--~i,..~- 


N.  C.  CREEDE. 
S.  T.  SMITH. 


I).  H.  MOKhAT. 


CAPT.  L.  E.  CAMPBELL. 
WALThK  S.  CHEESMAN. 


THE 


PROSPECTOR 


STORY  OF  THE  LIFE  OF 
NICHOLAS  C.  CREEDE. 


BY 

CY  WARMAN. 


DENVER 

THE  Great  Divide  Publishing  Company 

1894. 


X 


;>vy^': 


\\ 


r  '5    ■■ 


,v 


"X 

V 


(1^ 


Copyrighted  i894,  by  Cy  Warmar, 
Denver,  Colorado. 


w 


,  I 


PREFACE. 


The  purpose  of  these  pages  is  to  tell 
the  simple  story  of  the  life  of  an  un- 
pretentious  man,  and  to  show  what 
the  Pi-ospector  has  endured  and  accom- 
plished  for  the   West. 

The  Author. 


/ 


INTRODUCTORY. 


The  convulsion  was  over.      An  ocean 
had  been  displaced.     Out  of    its  depths 
had  risen  a  hemis2>here  ;  not  a  land  fin- 
ished  for  the  foot  of   man,  but  a  seeth- 
ing,   waving    mass    of    matter,    suririni-- 
With   the  mighty  forces  and   energies  of 
deep-down,    eternal    fircs.       The    winds 
touched    the   angrj^  billows   and   leveled 
out  the  plains.     One  last,  mighty  throe, 
and  up  rose  the  mountains  of  stone  and 
silver   and    gold    that    stand   to   tell   of 
that   awful   hour  when   a  continent  was 
born.     The  rain  and   gentle  dew  kissed 
the  newborn   world,  and  it  was   arrayed 
in    a   mantle   of   green.      Forests    grew, 
and   the  Father  of   Waters,  with  all  his 
tributaries,  began  his   journey  in   search 
of  the  Lost  Sea. 


10 


INTtlODVCTOnr. 


Tliat  miuiature  race,  the  Cliff  Dwell- 
ei'H,  ruled  the  land,  and  in  the  process 
of  evolution,  the  lied  Man,  followed  by 
our  hero,  the  Prospector,  who  brushed 
away  the  mysteries  and  disclosed  the 
wonders,  the  grandeur,  the  riches  of  the 
infant  world.  Before  Iiim  the  greatest 
of  the  earth  may  well  bow  their  heads 
in  recognition  of  his  achievements.  His 
monument  has  not  been  reared  by  the 
hands  of  those  who  build  to  commemo- 
rate heroic  deeds,  but  in  thriving  vil- 
lages and  splendid  cities  you  may  read 
the  history  of  his  privation  and  hard- 
ship and  valor.  He  it  was  who  first 
laid  down  his  rifle  to  lift  from  secretive 
sands  the  shining  flakes  of  gold  that 
planted  in  the  hearts  of  men  the  desire 
to  clasp  and  possess  the  West. 

It  was  the  Prospector  who,  with  a 
courage  sublime,  attacked  the  granite 
forehead  of   the    world,  and    proclaimed 


INTIiODiX'TOHY. 


11 


that,  locked  in  the  ))os(nn  of  the  Uoeky 
Mouutaiiis,  were  silver  and  gold,  for 
which  men  strive  and  die.  lie  •  strode 
into  the  dark  canon  where  the  sword 
of  the  Almighty  had  cleft  the  mountain 
chain,  and  climbed  the  rugged  steeps 
where  man  had  never  trod  before,  and 
there,  above  and  beyond  the  line  that 
marked  the  farthest  reach  of  the  Blue- 
bell and  the  Pine,  he  slept  with  the 
whisperings  of  God.  His  praises  are 
unsung,  but  his  deeds  are  recorded  on 
every  page  that  tells  of  the  progress 
and  glory  of  the  West.  He  has  for  his 
home  the  grand  mountains  and  verdant 
vales,  whose  wondrous  beauty  is  beyond 
compare. 

From  the  day  the  earth  feels  the  first 
-touch  of  spring,  when  the  first  flower 
blooms  in  the  valley,  all  through  the 
sunny  summer  time,  when  the  hills  hide 
behind  a  veil  of  heliotrope  and  a  world 


12 


introductohy. 


of  wild -flowers;  all  through  the  hazy, 
dreamy  autumn,  thiH  land  of  th<;  Pros- 
pector iH  marvelously  beautiful. 

When  the  flowers  fade,  and  all  the 
land  begins  to  lose  its  lustre;  when  the 
tall  grass  goes  to  see  J  and  the  winds 
blow  brisker  and  colder  from  the  west, 
there  comes  a  change  to  the  Alpine 
fields,  bringing  with  it  all  the  bright 
and  beautiful  colors  of  the  butterfly,  all 
the  rays  of  the  rainbow,  all  the  burning 
brilliancy  and  golden  glory  of  a  Salt 
Lake  sunset.  Now,  like  a  thief  at 
night,  the  first  frost  steals  from  the 
high  hills,  touching  and  tinting  the 
trees,  biting  and  blighting  the  flowers 
and  foliage.  The  helpless  columbine 
and  the  blushing  rose  bend  to  the  pas- 
sionless kisses  of  the  cold  frost,  and  in 
the  ashes  of  other  roses  their  graves  are 
made. 

When   the   God  of    Day   comes   back, 


JNTIiOUrCTUltY. 


18 


he   sees   upon    the    silent,    saddened   face 
of    Nature    the    ruin     wrought    ]>y    the 
touch   of    Time.      The     leaves,    by    his 
light   kept   alive   so   long,   are    l)lnshing 
and    burning,    and    all    the     fields     are 
aflame,    fired     by    the    fever    of    death. 
Even   the   winged   camp   ro])])er  screams 
and   flies   from  the   blasted   fields  where 
bloom   has   changed   to   blight,   and    the 
willows    weep    by    the    icy    rills.      All 
these  wondrous  changes  are  seen  by  the 
Prospector  as  he  sits   on  a  lofty  mount- 
ain,   where    the      autumn     winds     sigh 
softly   in   the  golden  aspen,  shaking  the 
dead   leaves  down   among   the    withered 
grasses,   gathering    the    perfume   of    the 
pines,  the  faint  odor  of  the   dying   col- 
umbine and   wafting  them    away  to  the 
lowlands   and  out  o'er    the   waste   of  a 
sun-parched  plain. 


THE  PROSPECTOR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

BIRTHPLACE  —  SCHOOL      DAYS BOY      LIFE 

ON     THE     FRONTIER — FAVORITE     SPORTS. 


piFTY  years  and  one  ago,  near  Fort 
*  Wayne,  Indiana,  Nicholas  C  Creede, 
the  story  of  whose  eventful  life  I  shall 
attempt  to  tell  you,  first  saw  the  light 
of  day.  When  but  four  years  old  his 
parents  removed  to  the  Territory  of 
Iowa,  a  country  but  thinly  settled  and 
still  in  the  grasp  of  hostile  tribes 
whose  crimes,  and  the  crimes  of  their 
enemies,  have  reddened  every  river  from 
the  Hudson  to   the  Yosemite. 

In    those     broad     prairies,   abounding 


15 


i 


/ 


16 


THE   PROSPECTOR. 


wit^  buffalo  and  wild  game  of  every 
kind,  l)egan  a  career  which,  followed 
for  a  half  century,  written  down  in  a 
modest   way,  will   read  like   a   romance. 

When  but  a  mere  lad,  young  Creede 
became  proficient  in  the  use  of  the 
rifle  and  made  for  himself  a  lasting 
reputation  as  a  successful  hunter.  He 
was  known  in  the  remote  settlements  as 
the  crack  shot  of  the  Territory,  and  be- 
ing of  a  daring,  fearless  nature,  spent 
much  of  his  time  in  the  trackless  for- 
est  and  on   the   treeless  plain. 

As  the  years  w^ent  by,  a  ceaseless 
tide  of  immigration  flowed  in  upon  the 
beautiful  Territory  until  the  locality 
where  the  Creedes  had  their  home  was 
thickly  dotted  with  cabins  and  tents, 
and  fields  of  golden  grain  supplanted 
the  verdure  of  the  virgin  sod.  As  the 
population  increased,  game  became 
scarce,    and    then,    as    the     recognized 


■■•;**^ 


CHAPTKli  I. 


17 


leader,  young  Creede,  at  the  head  of 
a  band  of  boyish  associates,  penetrated 
the  wilds  far  to  the  noithward  in  pur- 
suit of  their  favorite  sport.  On  some 
of  these  hunting  expeditions  they 
pushed  as  far  lorth  as  the  British 
line,  camping  where  game  was  a))un- 
dant,  until  they  had  secured  as  much 
as  their  horses  could  carry  })ack  to  the 
settlements. 

This  life  in  the  western  wilds  awoke 
in  the  soul  of  the  young  hunter  a  love 
for  adventure,  and  his  whole  career 
since  that  time  has  been  characterized 
by  a  strong  preference  for  the  danger 
and   excitement  of   frontier  life. 

The  facilities  for  acquiring  an  educa- 
tion during  young  Creede's  boyhood 
were  extremely  limited.  A  small 
school-house  was  ei'ected  about  thiee 
miles  from  his  home,  and  there  the 
boys  and  girls  of  the  settlement  flocked 


18 


THE    PliJSPKCTOR. 


to  study  the  simplest  branches  under  a 
male  teacher,  who,  the  boys  said,  was 
"too  handy  with  the  gad."  The  boy 
scout  might  have  acquired  more  learn- 
ing than  he  did,  but  he  had  heart 
trouble.  A  little  prairie  flower  bloomed 
in  life's  way,  and  the  young  knight  of 
the  plain  paused  to  taste  its  perfume. 
He  had  no  fear  of  man  or  beast,  but 
when  he  looked  into  the  liquid,  love- 
lit  eyes  of  this  prairie  princess  he  was 
always  embarrassed.  He  had  walked 
and  tried  to  talk  with  her,  but  the 
words  would  stick  in  his  throat  and 
choke  him.  At  last  he  learned  to 
write  and  thought  to  w^oo  her  in  an 
easier  way.  One  day  she  entered  the 
school-room,  fresh  and  ruddy  as  the 
rosy  morn;  her  cherried  lips  made  red- 
der by  the  biting  breeze  ;  and  when 
the  eyes  of  the  lass  and  the  lover  met, 
all    the     pent-up    passion    and    fettered 


I 


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1 


N.  C.  CREEDE. 


ClfAFThli'  I. 


W) 


affection   fiaHiiod    afluiiie   froiu    lier    licjirt 
to   1h8,  and    he    wrote   u[)on    her   slate  : 


♦  4   t\ 


The  honey  l)ee  for  honey  tii)8 

The  rose  upon  the  lea; 
Then  how  would  be  yoar  honeyed  lips 

If  I  could  be  the  bee?" 

The     cold,    calculating     teacher     saw 
the   fire   that   flashed  from  her  heart   to 
her   cheek,  and  he  stepped  to  her  desk. 
She     saw     him    coming    and    she     spat 
upon   the   slate  and  smote  the  sentiment 
at    one  swii't  sweep.      Then   the   teacher 
stormed.       He   said   the    very   fact    that 
she   rubbed    it  out  was   equal  to  a  con- 
fession    of     guilt,     and     he    "reckoned 
he'd     haf    to     flog     her."       A     school- 
mate  of     Creede's     told    this     story   to 
me,  and   he  said  all   the   big   boys   held 
their   breath     when     the     teacher     v/ent 
for    his    whip,    and    young    Oreede    sat 
pale  aiid  impatient.      "He'll  never  dare 
to    strike     that     pretty    creature,"   they 


•JO 


TIIIC    I'liVat'EVTUlt. 


thought;  ''shi;    is    ho    sweet,   so    gentle, 
iind  so   g<HMl." 

Tlie  tremhliiig  mukleii  was  uot  so 
sure  about  tliat  as  she  stepped  to  the 
vvliip})ing  corner,  shaking  like  an  aspen. 
*'  Swish "  went  the  switch,  the  pretty 
shoulders  shrugged,  and  the  young 
gallant  saw  two  tears  in  his  sweet- 
heart's eyes,  and  in  a  flash  he  stood 
between  her  and  the  teacher  and  said  : 
"Strike  me,  you  Ingin,  and  I'll  strike 
you."  "So '11  I,  so '11  I,"  said  a 
dozen  voices,  and  the  teacher  laid  down 
his  hand. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HIS    father's    death  —  dkiftin^j   west 

WARD  — ADVENTURES     ON     THE     MLSSOCKl. 

P\EATH   came   to   the   Creede  family 
when  young  Creede   was  but  ciglit 
years  ohL     A  few  yeai's  later  the  youth 
found   a   step-fatlier   in    the   family,  and 
they    were     never     veiy    good     friends. 
The  boy's    home- life  was  not   what    he 
thought   it  should  be,  and   he   bade  his 
mother    good -by  and    started    forth    to 
face  the   world.     In   that    thinly   settled 
country,   the   young   man   found   it  very 
difficult    to    secure   work    of    any   kind 
and  more  than   once   he  was  forced    to 
fancy  himself    the   "merry  monarch    of 
the  hay-mow,"  or   a   shepherd   guarding 
his   father's  flocks,   as    he  lay   down    to 
sleep  in   the  cornfield  and  coveied  with 


oo 


Tin-:  riiosvKCTou. 


|!i 


tilt;  Htai'N.  'I'Ik^  men,  for  tlio  most  part, 
lit*  said,  NviMv  gruff  and  liarsli,  Imt  tln^ 
vvoiiii'ii  cvcrywlicre  \voi't3  liis  friends, 
and  many  a  season  of  fasting  was 
shortened  ))y  reascni  of  a  gentle  worn- 
an\s  sympathy  and  kindness  of  heart. 
The  brave  hoy  hatth-d  with  life's 
storms  alone  ;  and  when  but  eighteen 
years  old  he  set  his  face  to  the  West. 
Omaha  was  the  one  brii^ht  star  in 
the  western  horizon  toward  which  the 
eyes  of  restless  humanity  were  turned, 
and  on  the  breast  of  the  tide  (jf  immi- 
gration our  young  man  reached  the 
uncouth  ca[)ital  of  Nebraska.  Perhaps 
he  had  not  read  these  unkind  remarks 
by  the  poet  Saxe : 

"Hast  ever  been  to  Omaha,  where  rolls  the  dark 

Missouri  down. 
And   forty  horses   scarce  can   draw  an  empty 

wagon  through   the  town? 
If  not,  then  list  to  what  I  say:   You'll  And  it 

just  as  I  have  found  it, 


CUM'TUli   //. 


2.1 


And  if  it  lio  upon  your  way,  take  my  advice, 
and  you'll  ^o  round  it.'' 

Oiimlwi  was  t\w\\  \\w  Lfrciit  oiitfittiiii' 
point    for   tlu;   country  to  tlu^  wcstwjird, 

Wlioro  ovorything  was  open  wiuo, 
And  inon  dranlc  abHinllio  on  the  side. 

In  tlio  lancjiinijo  of  Field,  "  money 
flowed  like  liiinor,"  and  a  man  who 
was  willini^  to  work  eoid<l  find  plenty 
to  do  ;  })ut  tlie  rush  and  bustle  of  tlu^ 
busy,  frontier  town  was  not  in  keepinu; 
with  the  taste  of  our  hc'ro,  and  he  be- 
[ja'i  to  pine  for  the  broad  fields  and 
tlie  open  prairie.  At  first  it  was  all 
new  and  strangely  interesting  to  liiin  ; 
and  often,  after  his  day's  work  was 
done,  he  would  wander  about  the  town, 
lookiuij  on  at  the  i'amini'  tables  and 
viewiniT  the  festivities  in  the  concert 
halls  ;  and  when  weaiy  of  the  sights 
and   scenes,  he  would   go   forth    into  the 


24 


77/ a;  ri{(tsi'k<"nnt. 


Htilly  iiii^ht  and  walk  the  hnmd,  Hinooth 
HtreetH  till  tlu^  iiumhi  went  down.  At 
liint  lie  resolved  to  leave  its  l)U8y 
throng,   and  joining  u    party    of    wood- 


clioi)pers,  he  went  away  up  the  river 
where  the  willows  grew  tall  and  slim. 
lie  was  busy  on  the  banks  of  the  sul- 
len stream;  he  felt  the  breath  of  Spring 
and   the    sunshine,  arid    while    the  wild 


<»■»._ 


CIIM'TKIi   II. 


•Jf) 


binlH  Hanp  in  tlio  willows,  he  wi<'l(ir«I 
the  ax  and  wuh  happy. 

The  wood  wan  easily  worked  and 
commanded  a  good  price  at  Omaha, 
and  the  young  chopper  soon  found 
that  lie  was  cpiiti^  [)rosj)erous;  was  his 
own  master,  and  Ik;  whistled  and 
chopped  whili^  tln^  she-deer  fondh'd 
her  fawn  and  the  pheasant  tl uttered 
near  him,  friendly  and  unafraid.  Once 
a  week  the  wood  was  loadinl  on  a 
"niackinaw"  and  floated  (h)wn  to  the 
city,  where  barges  werc^  always  wait- 
ing, and  where  sharp  competition  often 
sent  prices  way  al)ove  the  expectation 
of  tlie  settlers. 

One  day,  while  making  one  of  these 
innocent  and  profitable  tri[)s  down  the 
river,  young  Creede  nearly  lost  his 
life.  For  some  reason,  they  were 
trying  to  make  a  landing  a))ove  the 
city,    and    Creede   was    in     the   l)ow    of 


I  ii 


26 


THE   PROSPECTOR. 


\    ■ 


the  boat,  pulling  a  long  sweep  oar 
fixed  there  on  a  wooden  pin.  While 
exercising  all  hi«  strength  to  turn  the 
boat  shoreward  in  the  stiff  current,  the 
pin  broke,  he  was  thrown  headlong 
into  the  water  and  the  boat  drifted 
ahove  him.  As  often  as  he  rose  to 
th(!  surface,  his  head  would  strike  the 
bottom  of  the  l)oat  and  he  would  be 
forced  down  again.  It  seemed  to  him, 
lie  said,  that  the  boat  was  a  mile 
long  and  moving  with  snail-like  speed. 
He  was  finally  rescued  more  dead 
than  alive,  so  full  of  muddy  water 
that  they  had  to  roll  him  over  a 
water-keg  a  long  time  before  he  could 
be  bailed  out  and  brought  back  to 
life. 

When  he  reached  Omaha  and  re- 
ceived his  shai'e  of  the  cash  from  the 
sale   of    the   wood,   he    abandoned    that 


iii. 


CHAPTER   II. 


27 


line  of  labor,  and  with  the  restlessness 
of  spirit  and  love  for  adventure  whidi 
has  characterized  his  whole  life,  again 
started  westward. 


The  sturdy  bull,  with  stately  tread. 
Submissive,  silent,  bows  his  head 
And  feels  the  yoke.      Tlie  creaking  wain 
Rolls  leisurely  ncross  the  plain: 
Across  the  trackless,  treeless  land, 
An  undulating  sea  of  sand. 
Where  mocking,  sapless  rivers  run ; 
With  swollen  tongue  and  bloodshot  eye. 
Still  on  to  where  the  shadows  lie. 
And  onward  toward  the  setting  sun. 


With  weeping  eyes  he  looks  away 
To  where  his  free-born  brothers  play 
Upon  the  plain,  so  wild  and  wide; 
He  turns  his  head  from  side  to  side, 
He  feels  the   bull -whip's  cruel  stroke; 
Again  he  leans  against  the  yoke. 
At  last  his  weary  walk  is  done. 
He  pauses  at  the  river's  brink 
And  drinks  the  while  his  drivers  drink. 
Almost  beside  the  setting  sun. 

28 


CHAPTER  III. 

INDIAN     FIGIITINa THE     UNION     PACIFIC 

BUFFALO     HUNTING. 


/^REEDE'8  arrival  at  the  Pawnee  In- 


dian Reservation  on  the  Loop   fork 
iver  marked  an  era  in  liis 


of  the  Platte  River  marked  an  era 
eventful  life.  •He  began  at  this  place 
a  period  of  seven  years'  Indian  fight- 
ing and  scouting,  which  made  him 
known  in  the  valley  of  the  Platte, 
and  gave  him  a  fame  which  would 
have  been  world-wide  had  he,  like 
later  border  celebrities,  sought  for  no- 
toriety in  print  and  courted  the  favor 
of  writers  of  yellow  covered  literature. 
Being  naturally  of  a  retiring,  un- 
communicative nature,  he  shrank  from 
public  attention  ;  and  no  writer  of  fic- 
tion, or  even  a  newspaper  correspondent 

29 


30 


riiE  pitospKCTon. 


could  wrest  from  liim  a  single  point 
on  wliicli  to  hang  a  sensational  story. 
While  g(?nial  and  sociable  among  his 
associates  on  the  trail,  his  lips  were 
locked  when  a  correspondent  v/as  in 
camp. 

At  that  time  the  Union  '  Pacific  rail- 
way was  in  course  of  constructicm,  and 
hostile  Indians  continually  harassed  the 
workers  and  did  all  in  i\\Av  power  to 
retard  the  progress  of  the  work. 
United  States  Cavalry  troops  were  put 
into  the  field  to  protect  the  working 
corps,  and  workmen  themselves  were 
provided  with,  arms  for  their  own  de- 
fense. The  Pawnee  Indians  were  lying 
(piietly  on  their  reservation,  at  peace 
with  the  whites,  never  going  forth  ex- 
cept on  periodical  l)uffalo  hunts,  or  on 
the  war-path  against  their  hereditary 
enemies,  the  Sioux. 

Under  these  circumstances  was   begun 


CHAI'TEli   III. 


31 


tLe  Imililiiig  of  n  line  across  tlu*  plains. 
It  was  here  that  the  now  famous  "  Buf- 
falo Bill ''  made  his  reputation  as  a  buf- 
falo killer,  which  has  enabled  hinj  to 
travel  around  the  world,  i^ivini^  exhibi- 
tions of  life  on  the  western  wilds  of 
America. 


Mr.  F'rank  North,  then  a  resident  of 
the  Pawnee  country,  and  thoroughly 
familiar  with  their  language  and  cus- 
toms, conceived  the  idea  that  the  Paw- 
nees would  prove  valuable  allies  to  the 
regular  troops  in  battling  with  the  hos- 
tile   Sioux,  and  with  but  little  difficulty 


82 


THE  I'liUaVECTUR. 


secured  governnieiital  uutliority  to  enlist 
two  or  tlii'ec;  coiii[)aiiie8  jind  officer 
them  with  wliites  of  his  own  choosing. 
One  of  the  very  first  men  he  hit  upon 
was  Creede,  whom  he  made  a  first  lieu- 
tenant of  one  of  the  companies,  a  rela- 
tive of  the  oi'ganizer  being  placed  in 
command  with  a  captain's  rank.  This 
man  was  a  corpulent,  easy-going  fellow, 
who  sought  the  place  for  the  pay. 
There  was  nothing  in  his  nature  that 
seemed  to  say  to  him  that  he  should 
go  forth  and  do  battle  with  the  fear- 
less hair-lifters  of  the  plain.  Even  at 
his  worst,  two  men  could  hold  him 
when  the  fight  was  on.  He  was  a  very 
sensible  man,  w^ho  preferred  the  quiet 
of  the  camp  and  the  government  barber 
to  the  prairie  wilds  and  the  irate  red 
man. 

With    Creede     it    was    different.     He 
was    young   and   ambitious,   and   having 


CHAI'TKli   III. 


•  Id 


been   })i(>iij<lit    u[>    by    tlie   fliin    liaii«l    of 
II    step-fiitlu'i',    peace   tr()u))le(l    liis   mind. 
Notliini^  pleased   him  more  tliaii  to  have 
the    captain    herd    the    horses    while    he 
went    ont    with    his   hand-painted    Paw- 
nees  to   chase   the   frescoed    Sioux,     lie 
set  to    woi'k    assiduously    to    learn    the 
laniruaire  of  the  Pawnees  and  soon  mas- 
tered  it.     By    his    recklessness   in    battle 
and    remarkable    bravery  in    every    time 
of    danirer,    lie     gained    the    admiration 
and    confidence  of   the  savage    men,  who 
followed    fearlessly   where    their     leader 
led.      They     looked      upon      Creede     as 
their  commander,  regarding  the  Captain 
as   a    sort   of    camp    fixture,   not    made 
for     field     work,    and     many     of     their 
achievements  under  their  favorite  leader 
awoke  amazement   in    their  own    breasts 
and  made  them  a  terror  to  their  Indian 
foes.     If     there     are     those    who     think 
these     pages     are     printed      to     please 


84 


rHK    I'ltOSI'ECTOR. 


I'jitluT  tliJiii  from  Ji  desire  to  tell  the 
truth  and  do  justice  to  a  name  long 
neglected,  I  need  but  state  that  it 
stands  to-<lay  as  a  prominent  page  of 
the  history  of  Indian  warfare  in  the 
West,  that  during  their  several  years 
of  service,  the  Pawnee  scouts  were 
never  defeated  in  battle.  The  intrepid, 
dashing  spirit  of  their  white  leaders 
inspired  their  savage  natures  with  a 
confidence  in  their  own  powers  which 
seemed    to   render   them    invincible. 

Major  North  was  himself  a  brave, 
energetic  officer,  fearless  in  battle  and 
skilled  in  Indian  craft,  and  not  a  few 
of  his  appointments  proved  to  be  valu- 
able ones  from  a  fighting  standpoint. 
Because  he  was  always  with  them, 
sharing  their  danger  and  leading  fear- 
lessly when  the  fight  was  fierce,  the 
red  scouts  came  to  regard  Lieutenant 
Creede  as  the    great    "war  chief";  and 


E.  DICKINSON. 


CIIM'TKH   in. 


:i5 


never  (lid  tliey  falter  Ji  moment  when 
they  were  needed  most  hy  the  (rovern- 
ment.  Every  i)erih>u.s  exiM'dition  was 
intruHted  to  Creede  and  his  invinci))h's. 
A  favoritisnj  was  shown  wliich  permit- 
ted certain  olficers  to  remain  in  eamp 
away  from  danger.  They  never  kn«!vv 
how  i)r(.Md  the  Lieutenant  was  to  Knid 
his  gallant  scouts.  It  v*^as  a  compara- 
tively easy  road  to  fame  with  so  ])rave 
a  band  of  warriors,  and  the  attemhint 
danger  only  served  to  api)ease  the  lead- 
ei''s   appetite    for   adventures. 

The  notable  incidents  which  marked 
Lieutenant  Creede's  career  during  his 
seven  years'  service  as  a  scout  would 
till  many  volumes  such  as  this.  But  a 
few  can  be  touched  upon  ;  just  enough 
to  exhil)it  his  fearless  nature  and  his 
often  reckless  daring  in  the  face  of 
danger. 


CIIArTKU    IV. 

Ilai-d   down   llio  plain   thu   Uud  Man  rude 
yV^ainflt  thu   Uud    Man ;  I'awnuu  hIuw 
IUh  hatud  enemy,  thu  Siunx, 

And  bathed  him  in  his  brotlier's  blood. 

For  thuy  were  wily,  wiUI  and  Htrong, 
Kuvenjfoful,  i'oarluHH,  iiui'cu  and  ileut. 
They  mnrmiirud  :  Oh,  revunj^e  Ih  sweet 

When  Uud  Men  ride  to  right  a  wrong. 


LlIOirTKNANT     MIIUIK — "(J(K)I>     INDIANS  "- 

*'  don't   let   hku   know." 


"DEAD  to  1110,  Jim,"  m\d  the  sweet 
*  girl-wife  of  Lieiiteiiuiit  Murie. 
"  I  can't  read  long,  my  love,''  said  the 
gallant  scout.  "  I  have  just  learned  that 
there  is  trouble  out  West  and  I  must 
away  to  the  front.  That  beardless  te- 
legrapher, Dick,  has  been  liere  with  an 
onK'r    from    Major  North  and    they  will 

run  us  out  special  at  11 :  JiO  to-night." 

30 


VIIM'TKU    IV. 


Tlu;  L'unitciiJini  pickrd  up  a  collection 
of  poems  uiul  read  vvluac  he  opened 
the  hook  : 

*'Tull  mo  not,  Hwuot,  I  am  iiiikiiid, 
That  from  tlio  niiiiiiui'y 
Of  thy  uhaHto  bruast  and  qniut  mind 
To  war  and  arms   1   lleo." 

"Oh,  Jim,"  sh(^  hroke  in, '' why  don't 
thev  try  to  civilize  these  poor,  hunted 
IndiauH  ?  Are  they  all  h(>  very  had  ? 
Are   there   no  good    ones   among  them  ? 

"Yes,"  said  the  soldier,  with  a  half 
smile.  "  They  are  all  good  except  those 
that  escape  in    battle." 

"But  tell  me,  h>ve,  how  long  will  this 
Indian  war  last  ?  " 

"As  long  as  the  Sioux  hold  out," 
said  the  soldier. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  young  Lieu- 
temint  said  good-])y  to  his  girl-wife 
and   went   away. 

This    was    in    the    'OO's.       Tlu^    scouts 


f  i 


;J8 


THE    I'ltOiU'ECTUli. 


:  1 


were  stationed  near  Julesburg,  which 
was  then  the  terminus  of  the  Union 
Pacific  track.  The  special  engine  and 
car  that  l)rou<z:ht  Lieutenant  Murie 
from  Omaha,  arrived  at  noon,  the 
next  (hiy  after  its  dejjarture  from  the 
})anks  of  the    nunUly    Missouri. 

Murie  liad  ])een  married  less  than 
six  months.  For  many  moons  the 
love-letters  that  came  to  cam[>  from 
his  sweetheart's  hand  had  been  the 
sunshine  of  his  life,  and  now  they 
were  maii'ied  and  all  the  days  of 
doubt    and  danger   were   passed. 

An  hour  after  the  arrival  of  the 
special,  a  scout  came  into  camp  to  say 
that  a  large  l)and  of  hostih^  Sioux  had 
come  down  from  the  foot-hills  and 
were  at  that  moment  standing,  as  if 
waiting — even  inviting  an  attack,  and 
not  a  thousand  yards  away.  If  we 
except     the     officers,     the     scouts    were 


CHAVrKli   IV. 


avi 


nearly  all  Pawnee  Indians,  who,  at  the 
sight  or  scent  of  a  Sioux,  were  as  rest- 
less as  caged  tigers.  They  had  made  a 
treaty  with  this  hostile  tribe  once,  and 
were  cruelly  murdered  by  the  Sioux. 
This  crime  was  never  forgotten,  and 
when  the  Government  asked  the  Paw- 
nees to  join  the  scouts  they  did  so. 

The  scouts  did  not  keej)  the  warriors 
waitincj  loncj.  In  less  than  an  hour. 
Lieutenant  Murie  was  ridinc:  in  th(^  di- 
rection  of  the  Sioux,  with  Lieutenant 
Creede  second  in  command,  followed  by 
two  hundred  Pa\vnee  scouts,  who  were 
spoiling  for  trouble.  The  Sioux,  as 
usual,  outnumbered  the  Government 
forces,  f)ut,  as  usual,  the  dash  of  th(^ 
daring  scouts  was  too  much  for  tlui 
hostiles  and  they  were  forced  from  the 
field. 

Pearly  in  the  exercises,  Murie  and 
Creede  were    surrounded    by   a    pai'ty  of 


40 


THE    PROSPECTOIl. 


Sioux  and  completely  cut  off  from  the 
rest  of  the  command.  From  these  em- 
barrassing environments  they  escaped 
almost  miraculously.  All  through  the 
figlit,    which   lasted     twenty   minutes  or 


( i 


more,  Creede  noticed  that  Mui'ie  acted 
very  strangely.  He  would  yell  and 
rav(^  like  a  mad  man — dashincj  here  and 
there,  in  the  face  of  the  greatest  dan 
ger.  At  times  he  would  battle  single- 
handed,     with     a     half     dozen     of    the 


CHAPTER    IV. 


41 


fiercest   of   llie   foe,  and    liis  very  frenzy 
seemed  to   fill   them  witli   fear. 

When  the  fight  was  over,  Lieutenant 
Murie  called  Creede  to  liim  and  said  he 
had  been  shot  in  the  leg.  Hastily  dis- 
mounting, the  anxious  scout  pulled  off 
tlie  officer's  l)oot,  but  could  see  no 
wound  nor  sii^n  of  l)lood.  Others  came 
up  and  told  the  Lieut(;nant  that  his  leg 
was  as  good  as  new  ;  ])ut  he  insist(!d 
tliat  he  w\as  wounded  and  silently  and 
sullenly  pulled  his  l)oot  on,  mounted, 
and  the  little  band  of  in\  incildes  started 
for  camp.  The  Pawnees  l)egan  to  sing 
their  wild,  weird  songs  of  victory  as 
they  went  along  ;  but  they  luid  pro- 
ceeded only  a  short  distance  when 
Murie  began  to  complain  again,  and 
again  his  boot  was  removed  to  show 
him  that  he  was  not  hurt.  Some  of 
the  party  chaffed  him  for  getting  i"at- 
tled   over  a   little   l>ru>Ji    like   that,  an<l 


k 


42 


THK    PltOSPECTOU. 


Ilil 


ag{iiii  ill  silence  he  pulled  on  his  boot 
,'111(1  they  continued  on  to  camp. 

Dismounting,  Murie  limped  to  the 
surgeon's  tent,  and  some  of  his  compan- 
ions followed  him,  thinkino:  to  have  a 
good  laugh  when  the  (h>ctor  should  say 
it  was  all  the  result  of  imagination, 
and  that   there  was  no  wound  at  all. 

When  the  surgeon  had  examined  the 
limb,  he  looked  up  at  the  face  of  the 
soldier,  Avhich  was  a  picture  of  pain, 
and  the  bystanders  could  not  account 
f<^r  the  look  of  tender  sympathy  and 
pity  in  the  doctor's  eyes. 

Can  it  be,  thought  Creede,  that  he  is 
really  hurt  ahd  that  I  have  failed  to 
find  the  wound  ?  "Forgive  uk?,  Jim," 
he  said,  holding  out  his  liaiid  to  the 
sufferer,  Init  the  surgeon  waved  him 
away. 

"  Why,  you — you  could  n't  help  it, 
Nick,"     said     Mijrie.       "  You    could  n't 


liii 


CTI AFTER  IV. 


43 


kill  all  of  them  ;  but  we  made  it 
warm  for  them  till  I  was  shot.  You 
wou't  let  he?'  know,  will  you  ? "  he 
said,  turning  his  eyes  toward  tlie  med- 
ical man.  "  It  would  break  her  heart. 
Poor  dear,  how  she  cried  and  clung  to 
me  last  night  and  begged  me  to  stay 
with  her  and  let  the  country  die  for 
itself  awhile.  Most  wish  I  had  now. 
Is  it  very  bad.  Doctor  ?  Is  the  ])one 
broken  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  surc^^^on.  "  It's 
only  painful  ;    you'll  be  ])etter  soon." 

*'  Good !     Don't    let    her     know,    will 


you 


V 


Thev  laid  him  on  a  cot  and  he 
closed  his  eyes,  whis[)ering  as  he  di<l 
so  :     "  Don't   let  her  know." 

"  Where  is  the  hurt,  Doctor  ? " 
Creede  whispered. 

"Here,"   said     tlie     surgeon,    touching 


44 


77/ a;  prospkctoh. 


(■ 


I  , 


his   own  forehead   witli  his  finger.     "He 
is   cnr/y — li(>})elessly   insane." 

All  night  they  watched  by  his  bed, 
and  eveiy  few  moments  he  Avould  raise 
up  suddenly,  look  anxiously  around 
tlie  t(^nt,  and  say  in  a  stage  whisper: 
''Don't  let  he?'   know." 

A  few  days  later  they  took  him 
away.  lie  was  not  to  lead  his  l)rave 
scouts  ajj^ain.  His  reason  failed  to  re- 
turn.  I  never  knew  what  ])ecanie  of  his 
wife,  but  1  have  been  told  that  she  is  ' 
still  watchino:  for  the  window  of  his 
})rain  to  open  up,  when  his  absent  soul 
will  look  out  and  see  her  Avaiting  with 
the  old-time  love  for  him. 

One  of  his  old  comrades  called  to  see 
him  at  the  asylum,  a  few  years  ago, 
and  was  recognized  by  the  demented 
man.  To  him  his  wound  was  as  pain- 
ful as  ever,  and  as  he  limi)ed  to  liis 
old     friend,    his    face   W()re    a    look    of 


illi 


CflAI'TEli    IV. 


45 


intense  agony,  wliile  he  repeated,  ju«t 
as  his  comrades  luid  heard  liini  repeat 
an  hundred  times,  this  from  Swinlmrnt;: 

"Oh,  bitterness  of  things  too  sweet, 
Oh,  broken  singing  of  tlic  dove. 

Love's  wings  are  over-fleet. 

And  like  the  panther's  feet 
The  feet  of  Love." 

"Good-by,  Jim,"  said  the  visitor,  with 
tears   in    liis  voice. 

"Good-l)y,"  said  Jim.  Then  glancing 
about,  lie  came  closer  and  whisjtered  : 
"  Don't  let  he?'  know." 

It  is  a  quarter  of  a  century  since 
Murie  lost  his  reason  and  was  locked 
up  in  a  mad -house,  and  these  years 
have  wrought  wondrous  changes.  The 
little  projected  line  across  the  plain  has 
become  one  of  the  great  railway  sys- 
tems of  the  earth.  "  Dick,"  the  beardless 
operator  who  gave  Murie  his  orders 
at    Omaha,     is     now    General     Manatrer 


t 


m\ 


46 


THE    PnoSPKCTOH. 


Dickinson.  T\io  dclicute  and  spare 
youtli,  who  wore  a  AVinchester  an^  red 
liujht  at  tli(^  rear  end  of  tlic^  special,  is 
now  (leneral  Superintendent  Deuel,  and 
Creede,  poor  fc^ilow,  lie  would  give 
half  of  his  millions  to  be  able  to 
brush  the  mysteries  from  Murie's   mind. 


■m 


CHAPTEU  V. 


TnitlsriNd      PUOSI'ECTOU TUAI)lN(i      HOUSES. 


HAD  N.  C.  Crceilo  remained  a  j)oor 
prospector  all  his  days,  these  pages 
would  never  have  been  printed.  That 
is  a  cold,  hard  statement  ;  but  it  is 
true.  Shortly  after  the  fickle  (ioddess 
of  Fortune  sat  u[)  a  flirtation  with  the 
patient  prospector,  the  writer  met  with 
a  gentleman  who  had  served  or.  the 
plains  with  the  man  of  whom  you  are 
reading,  and  he  told  some  interesting 
stories.  We  l)ecame  very  well  ac- 
quainted and  my  interest  in  the  hunter, 
scout,  prospector  ai\d  miner  increased 
with  every  new  tale  told  by  his  com- 
panion on  the  plains.  Those  who  know 
this  silent  man  of  the  mountains  are 
well   aware   of   his   inborn   modesty  and 


47 


4S 


77/ a;    I'liOSPKCTOlt. 


of  the  reticciUH;  hv  inanifcstH  wlicn  ([XicS' 
tioiM'd  alxmt  his  own  pcrsoiuil  expi'ri- 
onccH.  Ilt'iicc,  tlin  writer  as  wcdl  hs  the 
rcjuler  iiiust  rely  largely  upon  tlu^  hIo- 
lies  tohl  hy  his  old  comrade,  the  first 
of  which  was  this  : 

A  larger  l)ody  of  Sioux  Indians  were 
cani[)ed  near  North  Platte,  Nebraska, 
having  come  there  to  meet  some  peace 
commissioners  sent  out  from  Washint^- 
ton.  We  were  cam])e(l  about  eight 
miles  below  them,  <piietly  resting  dur- 
ing the  cessation  of  hostilities,  yet  con- 
stantly on  the  alert  to  guard  against  a 
foray  from  our  foes  above.  The  Sioux 
and  the  Pawnees  were  ])itter  enemies, 
constantly  at  war  witli  each  other,  and 
as  we  knew  they  wei'e  aware  of  the 
existence  of  our  camp,  we  feared  some 
of  them  might  run  down  and  endeavor 
to  capture  our  stock.  Our  best  scouts 
were  sent  out   every    evening  in    tLe  di- 


CIlM'TKIi    V. 


41) 


rct'tioii  of  North  Phitti;  to  note  jiiiy 
evidi'iiccs  of  a  iiii'lit  raid  that  iiiiirlit 
a]n>('ar,  and  our  IiidiaiiH  were  iiiHtructcd 
to  have  their  arms  in  perfect  onh'r  and 
in  easy  reaeli  wlien  they  roUed  ii[)  in 
their    bhmkets  for  sU'ep. 

Creede's  horse  ha<l  become  hinu^  and 
was  next  to  useless  for  fi(*Ul  \V(»rk.  W(^ 
did  not  have  an  extra  animal  in  camp, 
and  for  three  or  four  days  he  tried 
hard  to  trade  the  crij)pled  iu^rse  to  an 
Indian  sccut  for  a  good  one.  lie  of- 
fered extravagant  odds  for  a  trade,  but 
the  Indians  knew  too  well  the  near 
proximity  of  a  natural  enemy  and 
would  take  no  risks  on  being  without 
a   mount  should    trouble  come. 

We  were  sitting  in  the  tent  one  even- 
ing, taking  a  good-night  smoke,  when 
some  one  began  to  chaff  Creede  about 
his  "  three-leti^ijced  horse."  Nick  took  it 
all  good-naturedly,  smiling    in    his  own 


flif 


50 


TIIK    I'UDSI'FJ'TOU. 


i  .1 


(juict  way  at  our  remarks,  ami  .s(mui  lie 
Hat  with  his  eyes  IxMit  oil  the;  groiiiHl, 
as  if  ill  (h*c|)  rcrtci'tioii.  SuiMciily  he 
aroKc,  Imcklrd  on  his  pistols,  piekt'd  up 
liis  rirte  and  started  fn^u  tlie  tent  with 
out  a  word. 

"  Whert;  are  you  g<MUg,  Nick  ^"  some 
om^  asked. 

"(ioini^  to  see  that  {\h\  pickets  are 
out  all  rii^ht,"  he  re[)lie(l,  as  the  tent 
ila})   ch)sed    heliind    him. 

This  seemed  natural  enough,  and  we 
soon  turned  into  our  blankets  and 
thought  no  more  of  the  matter.  When 
we  rolled  out  at  daybreak  liext  morn- 
ing, it  was  noticed  that  Creede's  blan- 
kets had  not  been  used  and  that  he 
was  not  in  the  tent.  One  of  the  boys 
remarked  that  he  had  lain  down  out  in 
the  grass  to  sleep  and  would  put  in  an 
a})pearance  at  breakfast  time,  and  we  all 
accepted    this  as  the  true  explanation  of 


r//. I /'//•:/;    v. 


r.i 


Ills  jihsriit'c.  Half  all  Iiuui"  later,  wluii 
we  were  about  to  cat  ln'cakfast,  mic  of 
tlic  |)i'*k('ts  caiiM'  in  and  reported  some- 
tliiiiL?  coiniiii^  from  up  the  v'wvv.  Our 
tiekl-irl assets   soon    dcuioiistiatcd    the  fact 


that  it  was  a  man  ridinsj  ono  liorso  and 
leading  four  otlicr^.  As  ho  came  closer, 
we  recoi^^nized  Creede,  and  he  soon  rode 
in,  dismounted  and  l)ei^au  to  uneincli 
his  saddle,  with  the  <[uiet  remark  : 


i 


52 


THk:  rRos/'KCTOR. 


\  ''v5 


i!l  I 


"  Gucs.s  1  oiii^^lit  to  get  oue  good 
mount  out  of    tliis  bunch." 

"  Where  did  you  get  them  ? "  Major 
North  asked. 

"  Up  the  river  a  little  ways." 

"How  did  you  get  up  there  ? 
Walk  '  " 

"  Not  much  I  did  n't.  I  rode  my 
lame  horse." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  your  own 
horse  ? " 

"  Traded  him  for  these  even  up." 

He  had  gone  alone  in  the  night, 
stolen  into  the  herd  of  the  Sioux  near 
North  Platte,  imsaddled  his  lame  horse 
and  placed  the  saddle  on  an  Indian's, 
and,  leading  four  others,  got  away  un- 
observed and  reached  camp  safely.  It 
was  a  bold  and  desperate  undertaking, 
but  one  entirely  in  keeping  with  his  ad- 
venturous spirit. 


li 


CHAPTER  VI. 


INDIANS     OFF     THE     RESEIIVATION — ALONE 
IN    CAMP PUOMPT     ACTION. 


DURING  the  summer  of  '68,  a  large 
[)arty  of  Pawnee  Indians,  men  and 
sc^uaws,  left  the  reservation  on  the  Loop 
fork  for  a  buffalo  hunt  in  tlie  country 
lying  between  the  Platte  and  Re])ubli- 
can  Rivers.  These  semi-annual  hunts 
were  events  of  great  interest  to  the 
tribe,  for  l)y  them  they  not  only  se- 
cured supplies  of  meat,  but  also  large 
numbers  of  robes,  which  were  tanned  by 
tlie  squa^\s  and  disposed  of  to  traders 
for  flour  and  groceries,  and  for  any 
other  goods  which  might  strike  the  In- 
dian fancy. 

At   this  time  the  Pawnee   scouts  were 
lying  in   camp   on  Wood  River,  about  a 


53 


54 


THE   PROSPECTOR. 


m 


\ 


ii! 


K        ! 


i 


mile  from  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad 
station  of  that  name.  The  hostile 
Indians  had  for  some  weeks  made  no 
aggressive  demonstration,  and  our  duties 
were  scarcely  sufficient  to  edge  up  the 
dull  monotony  of  camp  life.  Once  a 
week  about  half  of  the  company  would 
be  sent  on  a  scout  to  the  west  along 
the  railway,  two  days'  miircli,  four  days 
of  the  week  being  consumed  by  these 
ex[>editions. 

Half  of  the  company  had  gone  on  this 
weekly  scout,  leaving  but  oxw  white  of- 
ficer in  camp,  Lieutenant  Creede.  He 
had,  if  I  recollect  aright,  but  eighteen 
men  fit  for  duty,  a  number  of  others 
being  disabled  by  wounds  received  in 
recent  battles.  The  s«jcond  day  after  the 
hunting  party  left,  the  section  men  from 
the  west  came  into  AVood  River  Station 
on  their  hand-car,  and  excitedly  reported 
that  a    band  of    about  fifty    Sioux    had 


R 


CHAPTEU    VI. 


55 


crossed  the  track  near  them,  headed 
south.  Joe  Adams  was  the  agent  at 
Wood  River,  and  he  at  once  sent  a 
messenger  to  the  Pawnin;  (;anip  to  tell 
Lieutenant  Creede  of  the  presence  of 
the  hostiles.  Creede  liastily  mounted 
his  handful  of  warriors,  and  in  less  than 
twenty  minutes  was  dashing  forwanl  on 
the  trail  of  the  Sioux.  The  time  con- 
sumed l)y  the  section  men  in  running 
into  the  station,  a  distance  of  about  four 
miles,  and  the  consecpient  delay  caused 
by  sending  the  news  to  Ci'eede,  and  the 
catching  up  and  saddling  of  the  ponies 
had  given  the  Sioux  a  good  start,  and 
when  the  scouts  had  reached  the  Platt(^ 
the  hostiles  had  crossed  over  and  wc^re 
concealed  from  view  in  the  sandhills 
beyond. 

Crossing  the  wide  stream  with  all  pos- 
sible haste,  the  game  little  ponies,  strug- 
gling with  the  treacherous  (piicksand  for 


(T 


y  'i 


■ii 
■f 


*        y 


■!!■■ 
i 


50 


THE   PROSPECTOR. 


which  that  historic  river  is  noted,  the 
scouts  struck  the  trail  on  the  opposite 
bank  and  pushed  rapidly  forward. 
Although  they  knew  that  the  Sioux 
outnumbered  them  three  to  one,  the 
Pawnees  were  eager  for  the  fray — an 
eagerness  shared  in  by  their  intrepid 
commander.  Chanting  their  war-songs, 
their  keen  eyes  scanning  the  country 
ahead  from  the  summit  of  each  sand- 
hill, they  pushed  onward  with  the 
remorseless  persistence  of  blood-hounds 
up   the   trail   of   fleeing   fugitives. 

About  three  miles  from  the  river,  on 
reaching  the  top  of  a  sand-hill,  the  en- 
emy was  discovered  a  mile  ahead,  mov- 
ing carelessly  along,  oblivious  of  the  fact 
that  they  were  being  pursued.  Con- 
cealed by  the  crest  of  the  hill,  the 
Pawnees  halted  to  view  the  situation, 
and  Lieutenant  Creede  covered  the  hos- 
tiles   with  his   field -glass.     An    impreca- 


CHAPTER    VI. 


57 


tion  came  from  his  lips  as  he  studied 
the  scene  in  front,  and  crying  out  a 
sentence  in  the  Pawnee  tongue,  his  war- 
riors crowded  about  him.  His  experi- 
enced eye  had  shown  liim  that  they 
were  Yankton  Indians,  tlien  at  peace 
with  the  whites.  He  took  in  the  situa- 
tion in  a  moment.  They  had  h'arned 
of  the  departure  of  the  Pawnee  village 
on  a  buffalo  hunt,  and  were  after  them 
to  stampede  and  capture  their  horses, 
kill  all  of  their  hated  enemy  they  could 
and  escape  back  to  their  reservation. 

All  this  he  told  to  his  warriors,  and 
the  iield-glass  in  the  hands  of  various 
members  of  the  party  corroborated  the 
fact  that,  as  United  States  scouts,  tliey 
had  no  right  to  molest  the  Yankton 
bands.  The  impetuous  warriors  chafed 
like  caged  lions,  and  demanded  in  vigor- 
ous terms  that  the  chase  should  be  re- 
sumed.    One     cool-headed     old    man,    a 


fT 


SSM 


jj     f 


l!ll   it 


•'1 
jl 

■  I  i 

1: 


Ml 
jiii 

iiii 


58 


THE   I'liOSPECTOIi. 


chief  of  somo  importance;  in  the  ti'i})e, 
addressed  Lieutenant  Creede  substan- 
tially as  folhjvvs  : 

"Father;  you  are  a  white  man,  an 
ofiic(!r  und(;r  tlu^  great  war  chief  at 
Wasliington,  and  you  would  rouse;  liis 
ang(;r  by  battling  with  Indians  not  at 
war  with  him  and  his  soldi(;rs.  Wi;  are 
Pawnee;  Indians,  and  the  m(;n  yonder 
are  our  hat(;d  foes.  Tliey  go  to  attack 
our  p(;ople,  to  kill  our  fathers,  sons, 
})i"others,  the  scpiaws  and  children,  and 
steal  their  horses.  It  is  our  duty  to 
protect  our  people;.  It  is  not  your  eUity 
to  he;lp  us.  Go  back,  father,  to  e>ur 
camp,  and  we,  not  as  se)ldie;rs,  l)ut  as 
Indians,  will  push  on  to  the  de;fense;  of 
emr  pee)ple.  Listen  to  the  worels  e)f  wis- 
elom  and  ge^  back." 

The  situatie)n  was  a  trying  one.  The 
Lie'utenant  we;ll  kne'w  that  if  lie'  UmI  his 
scouts    against    the   Yauktons   lie  \vould 


CIlAPTKIi    VI. 


T)') 


have  to   face    serious  trouble    at   Wanli- 
ington     and    meet  with    severe     censure 
from   General  Augur,   then   commanding 
the  Department  of  the  Platte.     lie  real- 
ized   that  his    official    position    would  hv 
endangered,  and     that     he     miglit    even 
subject    hims(;lf    to    arrest    and    trial    in 
the  United  States  Courts  for  his  action. 
For  some  moments  ho  stood  with  his  eyes 
bent   upon    the   ground    in    dec^p    reflec- 
tion, tlui    Indians   eying  him   keenly  and 
almost   breathlessly    awaiting    his    reply. 
It  was   a   tableau,  thrilling,  well  woi'thy 
the   brush   of  a  painter.     The  hideously 
painted    faces    of    the   Indians   scowling 
with  rage  ;  their  blazing,  eager  eyes  re- 
flecting   the    spirit   of   impatience  which 
s,^^ayed  their    savage    souls  ;   the   hardy, 
faithful    ponies    cropping   at    the    scant 
grass  which    had   [)ierced   the   sand  ;  the 
Lieutenant    standing    as    immovable    as 
a   rock,   his   face    Ix^traying   no   trace  of 


Si 
;] 


I   I 


;'/ 


1 1. 


00 


TlIK    PliOSrECTOJi. 


excitement,  calmly,  stileiitly  gazing  at  the 
ground,  carefully  weighing  the  responsi- 
bilities resting  upon  him, — all  went  to 
make  up  a  picture  so  intcmsely  thrilling 
that  the  mind  can  scarcely  grasp  its 
wild  features. 

When  the  Lieutenant  spoke,  he  did  so 
(piietly  a"d  calndy.  There  was  a  light 
in  his  eyes  which  hoded  no  good  to  the 
j)ursued,  hut  his  voice  betrayed  not  the 
least  excitement.     He  -said  : 

"  For  several  years  I  have  been  with 
you — have  been  one  of  you.  We  have 
often  met  the  enemy  in  unequal  num- 
bers, but  we  have  never  been  defeated. 
In  all  the  battles  in  which  I  have  led 
you,  you  never  deserted  me.  Should  I 
desert  you  now  ?  1  know  that  1  will 
be  censured,  perhaps  punished,  but  those 
Yanktons  shall  never  harm  your  people. 
I  will  lead  you  against  them  as  I  would 
against  a   hostile  band,  and   on  me  will 


CHAPTEIi  VI. 


61 


rest  all  the  responsibility.  We  go  now 
as  Pawnee  Indians,  not  as  United  States 
scouts,  and  go  to  fight  for  our  people. 
Mount ! " 

Grunts  of  satisfaction  greeted  his 
words.  They  would  hav(^  hwn  followed 
by  wild  yells  of  sav^•^go  delight  had 
there  been  no  fear  of  such  a  deinon- 
stration  disclosing  their  presence  to 
the  Yanktons.  Horses  were  ([uickly 
mounted,  and  the  l)and  again  took  the 
trail  with  an  impatience  which  could 
scarcely   be   curbed. 

The  Yanktons  were  soon  again 
sighted,  and  the  scouts  adopted  the 
Indian  tactics  of  stealing  upon  their 
foes.  Skirtinc:  the  bases  of  sandhills, 
keeping  from  sight  in  low  grounds 
and  following  the  bed  of  gulches,  they 
pressed  on,  until  the  enemy  was  dis- 
covered    less     than     three- fourths   of     a 


T 

tllli  i 


02 


TIIK    ritOSPKCTOR. 


x\\W'  ahead,  and  y(^t  uiioonHcious  of  the 
[)reHencu  of    a    foe. 

Halting  in  a  \o\s  spot  in  the  hills, 
th(;  Pawnees  hastily  unsaddled  their 
ponies  and  stripptnl  for  tin;  fight.  In- 
dians invarialdy  go  into  a  !)attle  on 
hanihack  horst^s,  as  saddh^s  impede  tin; 
sp(»ed  of  the  animals  in  (piick  move- 
ments. When  again  mounted,  the  Ijieu- 
t(;nant  gave  the  command  to  advance. 
On  niaching  tluj  crest  of  a  sand-hill, 
the  Pawnees  discovered  their  enemy 
just  gaining  the  summit  of  the  next, 
about  five  hundred  yards  distant.  The 
Yanktons  discovered  their  pursuers  at 
the  same  moment,  and  great  commo- 
tion was  observed  in  their  ranks.  They 
hastily  formed  tluimselves  for  battle, 
and  then  one  of  them  who  could  speak 
English,  cried  out  : 

"  Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you 
want  ? " 


CUAl'TKU    VI. 


"  W(^  an^  PawiKHj  Indians,  and  Wf 
want  t(»  know  wht*ni  you  an;  going/' 
Creedt;  Hlioutcd  in  ivply. 

"  You  arc  Pawiu'c  sfouts,  and  an; 
soldii'i's  of  tliu  Unitinl  Statt's.  W(;  arc 
Yankton  Sioux  at  jH'ace  with  the  (Jov- 
einnicnt,   and   you   cannot   niolcnt  us." 

"You  are  nioviiii^  a^'ainst  thi;  Paw- 
nee  village,  now  on  a  buffalo  liunt," 
Orccdc  rc[)licd.  "  You  want  to  kill 
owv  people  and  steal  their  horsrs.  We 
arc  Pawnee  Indians,  and  art?  here  to 
tight  for  our  ptroplc.  If  you  take  the 
trail  back  across  the  Platte,  we  will 
not  disturb  you,  but  if  you  attempt  to 
move  forward,  we  will  fight  you.  De- 
cide  quick  !" 

The  leaders  of  the  Yaukton  band 
gathered  about  the  interpreter  in  coun- 
cil, while  Creede  interpreted  what  had 
been  said  to  his  warrioi's.  It  was 
with   difficulty   he   could     restrain    them 


i«, 


I. 


r»4 


77/a;  I'liiKsi'Kcntn. 


i 


from  (lasliiii^  forward  to  tin*  attack, 
lit  a  fi^w  iiioiiu'itts  tlk^  ^'aiiktoii  in- 
terprt'ter  Hlioiitcd  : 

"  If  you  attack  us,  the  (JovcrmiuMit 
will  puninli  you  and  reward  us  for 
our  loss.  \Vi!  do  uot  feai'  you  aw 
Pawn(;cs,  but  we  are  at  [)eac(i  and  do 
not  want  to  fight  you  because^  you  are 
soldiers  of  the  great  father  at  Wash- 
ington. We  niv.  many  and  you  are 
few,  and  we  could  soon  kill  y«ui  all, 
or  drive  you  back  to  your  camp,  (fo 
away   and  let   us  alone." 

"  You  are  the  enemy  of  our  peo- 
ple, and  you  go  to  kill  them,"  the 
Lieutenant  replied.  "  We  will  fight 
for  them,  not  as  soldiers,  but  as  Paw- 
nees. You  must  make  a  move*  now, 
instantly.  We  will  wait  but  a  minut». 
If  you  take  the  back  trail,  it  will  be 
good.  If  you  move  forward,  we  will 
make  you   halt   and   go   back." 


CIIM'THli   VL 


<;•> 


Tli«'  only  reply  was  a  coiiiiiiaM<l 
fi'oiii  the  Vaiiktoii  leudtM'  to  his  fol- 
lowers, ill  ol)(!<rK»iic«^  to  whieli  they 
startt'd  forward  in  their  orijriiml  direc- 
tion. Crccdi^  shouted  a  eoiiiinaiid  to 
his  men,  and  with  wild  yells  tln-y 
dasiied  ilown  the  s1o|h^  and  U|>  the 
sidii  of  the  hill  on  which  tlu^ir  <Mi(>niy 
had  last  been  seen.  On  a  lcv(d  flat 
beyond  the  hill,  th(^  ^'anktons  were 
found  hastily  forniiiii;  for  batths  and 
with  tigei'-lik<?  iinjjetuosity,  the  siMUits 
dashed  forward,  tirini;  as  they  advanced. 

The  wild  dash  of  the  Pawnees 
seemed  to  bewilder  the  Yanktons,  and 
they  were  thrown  into  confusion.  They 
quickly  rallied,  however,  and  for  fully 
an  half- hour  they  fought  desperately. 
The  mad  impetuosity  of  the  Pawnee 
again  threw  them  into  confusion,  and 
scattering  like  frightened  shee^),  they 
fled     from     the     field.        The     Pawnees 


^ 


m  fl 


()(•> 


'/•//A'    I'ROSl'ECTOli. 


i  I 


ft: 


I  It 


$ 


pursued  tlieni,  and  a  runuini^  fight  wan 
iiiuintained  over  sinenil  miles  of  coun- 
try. The  Ytmktous  were  at  hist  so 
scattered  that  they  couhl  make  no 
show  of  resistance,  and  with  all  possi- 
})le  speed  sought  the  river  crossing 
and  fled  toward  their  agency.  It  was 
afte?*\vards  learned  that  they  sustained 
a  loss  of  eight  killed  and  cpiite  a 
lari^(;  number  wound(;d.  The  Pawnees 
lost  hut  one  man  kilh'd,  but  many 
were  wounded  on  the  fiehl.  Several 
horses  were  killed.  Creede's  army 
blouse  was  riddled  with  bullets  and 
arrows. 

Returning  from  the  field,  "  Bob 
White,"  a  Pawnee,  reached  Wood  River 
in  advance  of  the  scouts,  and  by  mak- 
incr  motions  as  of  a  man  fallin<;  from  a 
horse,  and  repeating  the  word,  "  Lieu- 
tenant," created  the  impression  that 
Creede  had  been    killed,  and    the  agent 


til 


>^?l 


X^^^^  f 


ui 


1 


Wr 


i 


Ut 


"■""■■ilMI 


mm 


.  ■  u 


-  i 


CHAPTER   VI. 


67 


telt'grrtphod  tlie  news  to  Oinalui,  whore 
it  was  pul)lislie(l  in  the  daily  pjipern. 
When  the  scouts  reached  the  station, 
however,  the  gallant  Lieutenant  was  at 
their  head.  When  he  dismounted,  it 
was  observed  that  lie  limped  painfully, 
and  in  explanation  said,  that  in  one  of 
the  charges  his  horse  had  fallen  upon 
him,  severely  bruising  and  spraining 
one  of  his  legs.  This  was  what  "Bob" 
had  tried  to  tell,  but  the  agent  inter- 
preted his  signs  to  mean  that  the  iu- 
tre[)id  leader  had  been  killed  in  battle. 
When  the  Yanktons  reached  their 
agency,  they  rei)orted  that  while  <piietly 
moving  across  the  country,  the  Pawnee 
scouts,  being  in  the  service  of  the  United 
States,  had  attacked  them  in  overwhelm- 
ing numbers  and  driven  them  back  to 
their  reservation.  The  matter  was  laid 
before  the  authorities  at  Washington, 
referred  to  General    Augur,  and   by  him 


^f'-f 


68 


THE    PliOSPECTOH. 


^ 


to  Major  North,  who  was  already  in 
possession  of  Creede's  explanation  of  the 
affair.  Considerable  red-tape  correspond- 
ence followed,  and  as  the  Yanktons 
were  off  their  reservation  withont  per- 
mission, and  in  direct  violation  of 
oi'ders,  the  matter  was  allowed  to  drop. 
Creede  was  donbly  a  hero  in  the  eyes 
of  his  sconts  ttfter  this  episode,  and 
when  the  Pawnee  village  returned,  and 
it  was  learned  how  the  Lieutenant  had 
l)attled  in  their  behalf,  they  bestowed 
u|)on  him  the  most  marked  expressions 
of  gratitude  and  adoration. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


*i 


ti 


TRAIL    OF    INDIAN    PONY  TUACKS DKSI'KU- 

ATK    ENCOUNTKIl HARD     TO    MAKE    THE 

SCOUTS    BELIEVE    HIS    STORY. 

/^^NE  of  the  most  daring  acts  in  tlu; 
^^-^  liistorv  of  tins  darini::  man  was  com- 
mitted  in  Western  Nebraska  in  180(). 
From  boyhood  days,  he  had  been  noted 
as  a  hunter,  and  during  the  years  whicli 
he  spent  in  the  scouting  service,  his 
splendid  marksmanship  and  extraordi- 
nary •  achievements  in  the  pursuit  of 
game  earned  for  him  the  reputation  of 
being  the  best  hunter  west  of  the  Mis- 
souri River.  His  success  in  that  line 
was  phenomenal  and  elicited  expressions 
of  surprise  from  all  who  had  a  knowl- 
edge of  his  work,  and  from  those  who 
were  told  of  it. 


k  I!'     7  •  f" 


70 


THE   FliOSPECTOR. 


liW'A 


\  Ijl 


Killing  buffalo  was  not  regarded  by 
Creede,  or  by  any  of  tlie  hunters,  as  the 
best  evi(h'nce  of  skill  in  marksmanship 
(►r  in  hunting.  Any  one  who  could  ride 
a  h(>rse  and  fire  a  rifle  or  revolver 
c<>ul(l  kill  those  clumsy,  shaggy  animals 
much  easier  than  they  could  [)ursue  and 
kill  the  ordinary  steers  on  the  westei'n 
I'anges  to-dry.  In  fact,  the  range  steer 
is  a  far  moi*(^  dangerouj  animal  when 
enraged  than  was  the  buffalo,  for  it 
possesses  greater  activity,  and  is  more 
fleet  of  foot.  The  men  who  have 
gained  notoriety  on  account  of  the 
niiml)er  of  buffalo  they  have  killed  are 
looked  U2)on  with  quiet  contempt  by 
the  true  hunters  of  the  plains  and 
mountains,  who  justly  claim  that  hunt- 
ing excellence  can  only  be  shown  in  the 
still  hunt,  where  tact  and  skill  are  re- 
quired to  approach  within  shooting  dis- 
tance of   the  elk,  deer  or   antelope,  and 


CHAPTER    Vtl. 


71 


proficient  raarksmansliip  is  necessary  to 
kill  it.  When  ])uffal()  were  plenty  on 
the  western  plains,  it  was  not  at  all 
unnsual  for  women  to  ride  after  and 
kill  them,  and  incur  little,  if  any,  risk 
of  personal  danger.  Miss  Emma  Wood- 
ruff, a  school  tencher  on  Wood  River  in 
the  sixties,  and  who  afterwards  married 
a  telegraph  operator  at  Wood  River 
Station,  became  <piite  noted  as  a  buffalo 
hunter,  and  regarded  it  ))ut  as  an  ordi- 
nary achievement  to  mount  her  i)ony 
and  kill  one  of  the  sliaggy  monster's. 
The  lonii^-haired  showmen  wlio  infest 
the  country  and  tell  thrilling  stories  of 
their  desperat(^  adventures  and  narrow 
escapes  while  hunting  the  buffalo,  draw 
largely  upon  their  imagination  for  bait 
to  throw  out  to  the  gullilde.  No  one 
in  a  dozen  of  tliem  ever  rcuiched  the 
west  l)ank  of  the  Missouri  River. 
Every  frontier  man  will    agree  tliat    the 


P! 
r: 


\: 


:l 


41 
•11 


72 


THE    PliOSPECTOR. 


HI 


I 


Ro-called  scouts,  cowboys  and  Indian 
figlitei'H  who  pose  in  dime  museums, 
dime  novels  or  behind  theatrical  foot- 
lights, an?  in  nearly  every  instance  the 
most  shameless  frauds,  whose  long  hair 
and  uidimited  "  gall "  make  them  heroes 
in  unexj)erienced  eyes.  Since  the  deatli 
of  Kit  Cai'son,  but  one  long-haired  man 
has  <'arned  a  rej)utation  as  a  scout,  and 
while  ]w  was  once,  for  a  l)rief  seascm, 
allured  into  tho  dramatic  business,  and 
now  gives  platform  entertainments  when 
his  duties  will  ])ermit  him  to  do  so,  he 
is  not  a  showman,  but  is  yet  in  Govern- 
ment employ.  He  is  a  trusted  secret 
agent  of  the  l)e])artment  of  Justice,  and 
is  enjijai^ed  in  a  callinc^  almost  as  dan- 
gerous  as  was  Iiis  scouting  service — that 
of  running  down  the  desperate  men 
Avho  are  engaged  in  selling  liquor  to 
Indians.  liong  hair  is  the  exce2)tion 
and    not   the   rule   among  scouts,  and  a 


CllAVTKli     VII. 


;; 


cowboy  wlio  permits  liis  locks  to  cluster 
over  his  sliouklers  is  laughed  at  by  his 
fellow  kiiifrhts  of  the  saddle  and  classed 


as  a  ci 


ank. 


You    shall  read    this    story    as   it    fell 
from  Creede's  own  li[>s  when  I    ])ress(>d 


him  to  tell  it   to  me 


It 


was 


tl 


ns   in 


cident  which  first   trained  from  him    the 


full 


confidence*    and    unstinte<l     admira- 


tion of   the  Indian  scouts 


ii 


Gan\(;,  through  some  cause,  was  very 


id 


day    I 


scarce  near  our  camp,  and  onc^  day 
saddled  my  favorite  horse  and  rode 
southward,  determined  to  get  meat  of 
some  kind  before  returning.  1  went 
a})out  fifteen  miles  from  camp,  and 
after  hunting  scmie  four  or  five  hours 
without  success,  mad(i  up  my  mind  the 
game  had  all  left  the  country.  I  started 
to  return  by  a  circuitous  route,  desiring 
to  cover  as  large  a  scope  of  country  as 
possible,  and    get   some  meat    if    it   was 


pi 

n 

li 


f- 


i 


1 

4 


f« 


m 


74 


THK    rnoSI'KCTOU. 


tit  all  to  be  found.  After  tnivclijii' 
jH'rlwips  {in  hour  through  the  sand-hills, 
1  came  upon  a  fresh  trail  of  pony 
tracks,  and  I  knew  the  tracks  were 
made  hy  Indian  ponies,  and  hostih* 
Indians,  too,  for  none  of  our  scouts 
were  away  from  camj».  I  determined 
to  follow  the    trail    and    ascertain  if  tlie 


1 


)onies  a 


11    li 


d 


)ore    riders,  an( 


1,  if 


1 


)OSSll)l( 


hh 


to  Lret    close    en(Uij»h   unol)serve(l    to    see 
from  the  .i]>]K'nrance  of  the   Indians  who 


tl 


ley   were, 


am 


I    if    it  w 


IS  a 


hunt 


mir  or 


war    party.       They  were    headed   in  the 
<lirection    in  which  I  desired   to  l^o,  and 


r^    1 


after  tightening  up  my  saddh^  cinches 
and  looking  to  see  if  my  pistols  were 
in  order,  I  took  the  trail.  1  judged 
from  the  trail  that  there  wen^  a})out 
twenty-five  or  thirty  Indians  in  tlu^ 
])arty,  and  I  soon  learned  that  my  esti- 
luate  was  a  nearly  correct  one. 

''  When  I  reached  th<^  top  of  the  first 


CUAVTFM   VII. 


75 


little  hill  2iiu'H(l  nf  iii(>,  I  caiiic  in  full 
view  of  the  party  not  more  tlnm  a 
•  linirtrr    ot    a  mile    distant. 


ri 


IC 


saw 


nic  at  tin*  same  tinir,  as  I  kiirw  fmni 
the  confusion  in  tlu'ii"  lanks.  I  tell 
you,  in  a  case  of  that  kiinl,  one  wants 
to  «lo  sonic  (|uick  thinkin;^,  and  if  cvci" 
a  man  ioix^cd  his  ])rain  for  a  scheme 
to    <i:et    out     of    an    uj^ly    scrajK*,   I    <lid 


riir 


ht    tl 


len    an( 


1    tl 


lere 


If    I    tried    te 


•--.-■o^ 


'11 


41  i\ 


•>  I 


iff 


V 

tk' 
IP 

Us:- 


■»ii 


IF  If 


s 


I 


r' 


! 


76 


TIIK    I'UOSI'KCTOli. 


it  into  execution.  I  saw  tlmt  my  only 
chiincc,  thougli  a  dcHju'ratc  one,  would 
bo  to  make  thcni  lu'lievt^  I  was  ahead 
of  a  party  in  their  ])ursuit,  and 
taking  off  my  hat,  I  made  frantic 
motions  to  the  r<'ar,  as  if  hurrying  up 
a  body  of  troops,  and  then,  ])utting 
spurs  to  my  horse,  dashed  riglit    toward 


tl 
fi 


lem,    an( 


1     wh 


•1 


len    elos(»    enou 


rinir 


at    th 


itl 


jem    witn     mv     rin« 


tl. 


x'lran 


Tl 


le 


scheme  worke.l  l)eautifully,  for  withou 
firing  a  shot,  they  seemed  to  heconie 
terror-stricken  and  fle<l  on  throuuch  the 
hills.  The  course  lay  through  low  san<l- 
hills  which  often  concealed  them  from 
view,  but  I  |)ressed  on,  firing  at  every 
chance.  I  chased  them  for  fully  three 
miles  ;  two  of  them  died  and  I  captured 
three  ponies  which  fell  behind,  and  then 


left    the   trail  and   made   for 


camp 


found    it   hard    to   make   the   scouts  be- 
lieve my  story,  and  some   of  them  quite 


a 


rit.Mnnii  VII. 


77 


r 


plainly     liiiitrd     tluit     I     lia<l    fniiiul    the 
ponies    in    tin*     hills    an<l     Inul     s4M'n   no 


Indians.  I  saw  at  onci'  that  they 
(l()ul)t(Hl  me,  and  dctcrinincd  to  con- 
vince them  of  the  truth  of  what  I  had 
told  them.  The  next  niornini^  I  took  a 
dozen  or  more  of  them  and  went  hack 
to  the  scene  <>f  tin*  chase,  and  we  were 
not  loni^  in  finding;  all  the  coyotes  had 
left  of  the  two  Ixulies. 

"  That  affair  finnly  estal>lishe<l  my 
reputation  witli  the  scouts,  and  ever 
after  they  fully  relied  on  my  judj^'ment 
as  a  war  chief.  Throui'h  all  our  future 
o})erations,  they  trusted  m<*  implicitly, 
and  would  follow  me  any  place  1  chose 
to  lead  tliem." 


M 
k 


1 

'  '*•! 


1 


tri! 

m 


II 

1  ■■ 

r 

1 

1 

t 

1 

m 

I 

'    ■ 

I 

* 

,    8. 

^ 


CIIAPTEIi  VIII. 

VVHKN     NEW      FLOWERS      HLOOM       ON      THE 

(niAVES     OF     OTHER     ROSES PLUNKP]TY 

PLUNK      OF      UNSHOD       FEET  —  HE      HAD 
RECKONED      WELL. 

IN  the  early  springtiiHc,  nt  that  time 
of  tlie  yeai-  whvn  all  the  worhl  grows 
ghad  ;  when  tlie  green  grass  springs 
from  the  cohl,  l)rown  earth  ;  when  new 
flowers  l)h>om  on  the  graves  of  other 
roses  ;  when  every  animal,  man,  bird  and 
beast,  each  to  his  own  kind  turns  with 
a  look  of  love  and  tender  sympathy, 
we  find  the  restless  Red  Men  of  the 
Plains  on  the  war-path. 

One  day  at  sunset.  Lieutenant  Creede 
rode  out  from  Ogallala,  where  the  scouts 
were  stationed,  guarding  the  railway 
builders.     It    was    customary    for     some 

78 


CHAPTEii    VIII. 


7t) 


one  to  tako  a  look  about  at  the  closi^ 
of  day,  to  see  if  any  stray  Sioux 
were  prowling  around.  About  six  miles 
from  cami),  he  came  to  a  clump  of 
trees  covering  a  half  dozen  acres  of 
ground.  Through  this  grove  the  scout 
rode,  thinking  pi'rha])s  an  elk  or  deer 
might  be  seen  ;  but  nothing  worth 
shooting  was  sighted,  till  suddenly  In* 
found  himself  at  the  farther  edsre  of  the 
wood  and  on  the  banks  of  the- Platte. 
Looking  across  the  stream,  he  saw  a 
small  band  of  hostile  Sioux  ridintr  in 
the  direction  of  the  river,  and  not  more 
than  a  mile  away.  His  field-glasses 
showed  him  that  there  were  seven  of 
the  Sioux,  and  without  the  aid  of  that 
instrument,  he  could  see  that  they  had 
a  majority  of  six  over  his  party.  They 
were  riding  slowly  in  the  direction  of 
the  cam[).  Creede  concluded  that  i\wy 
intended  to  cross   over,  kill  the    guards, 


II 


V 


rw 


'.■'■"•fUPjIT    if1'!™(r  ^r"  •  r'^W^ 


'     r^'TP'— T^r^T  r-ii-" 


80 


niE    VliOiSl'ECTUli. 


und  capture  the  Government  horses. 
His  first  thought  was  to  ride  hack  to 
camp,  keeping  the  clump  of  trees  })e- 
tween  him  and  tlie  Indians,  and 
arrange   a   reception    for   tlie  8ioux. 

The  river  was  lialf  a  mile  wide  and 
three  feet  deep.  Horses  can't  tilivel 
xvvy    rapidly   in    three    feet  of    water. 

In  a  short  tinu;  they  had  reached  the 
water's  edge  and  the  scout  could  hardly 
resist  ,  the  temptation  to  await  their 
ap[)roach,  dash  out,  take  a  shot  at 
them,  and  then  return  to  camp.  That 
was  dangerous,  he  thought ;  for,  if  he 
got  one,  there  would  still  be  a  half  a 
dozen  bullets  to  dodge.  A  better  plan 
would  be  to  leave  his  horse  in  the 
grove,  crawl  out  to  the  bank,  lie  con- 
cealed in  the  grass  until  tha  enemy  was 
within  sixty  yards  of  him,  then  stand 
up  and  work  his  Winchester.  The  first 
shot  would   sur[>rise  them.     They  would 


CIlAPrEIi    VIII. 


81 


all  look  ut  tlu'ir  falling  frieiul  ;  tlu; 
second  would  show  them  where  he  was, 
and  the  third  shot  would  leave  ))Ut 
four  Indians.  By  the  tinit^  they  swuni; 
their  rilies  uj)  another  would  have 
passed  to  the  Ha[)[)y  Land,  and  one 
nuin  on  shore,  with  his  ritle  working, 
was  as  jLjood  as  three  frii>iitened  Indians 
in    the  middle  of  the    I'iver. 

Thus  reasoned  the  scout,  and  he 
crept  to  the  shore  of  the  stream..  He 
had  no  time  to  lose,  as  the  Indian 
ponies  had  finished  drinking  and  were 
already  on   the   move. 

As  the  sound  of  the  sinking  feet  of 
the  horses  grew  loudei',  the  hunter  was 
obliged  to  own  a  feeling  of  regret.  If 
he  could  have  gotten  l)ack  to  his  horse 
without  them  seeino;  him,  he  thou<i:ht 
it  would  be  as  well  to  return  to 
camp  and  receive  the  visitors  the?-e. 
Just   once  he    lifted  his   head   aV)ove  the 


Vn 


1 


^IW 


wwwHasi 


I 


.S2 


THE   I'liOSPECTOIi. 


♦I 


grans,  jiiid  then  he  sjuv  liow  uselosH  it 
would  he  to  atteni[)t  to  fly,  for  the 
liidijuis  were  ])iit  a  little  more  than  a 
huiidied  yards  away.  Kealiziug  that 
he  was  in  for  it,  he  made  U[)  his 
miii<l  to  remain  in  the  ucrass  until  the 
Sioux  were  so  near  that  it  would  l)e 
impossible  t<>  miss  them.  Nearer  and 
nearer  sounded  th(^  [)luidsety-plunlv  of 
the  uusIkkI  feet  of  the  little  horses  in 
the  shallow  stream,  till  at  last  they 
seemed  to  be  in  short-riiie  range,  and 
the  trained  hunter  sj)rang  to  his  feet. 
He  had  reekoned  well,  for  the  Indians 
w(!i*e  not  over  sixty  yards  away,  riding 
tandem.  Creede's  riile  echoed  in  the 
little  grove  ;  the  lead  leaped  out  and 
the  head  Indian  pitched  forward  into 
th(^  river.       The  rich'rless  horse  stoi)ped 


diort. 


Tl 


le 


ifl< 


ritii 


cr 


acked 


airain,    am 


1 


the     second     Red     Man     I'olled     slowly 
from    the   saddle  ;     so    slowly     that    he 


CIlAI'TEli    VIII. 


8;i 


baivly  got  out  of  the  way  in  tiiiu^  to 
ju'iiiiit  tlu'  next  hnive,  who  wjis  almost 
directly  beliiiul  him,  to  get  kilKnl  when 
it  was  his  turn.  Tlu;  remaining  four 
Indians,  instead  of  returning  the  fire, 
sat  still  and  stone-like,  so  terrified 
were  they  that  they  never  raised  a 
hand.  Two  more  seconds  ;  two  lUore 
shots  from  the  trusty  rifle  of  the  scout 
and  two  more  Indians  went  down,  head 
first,  into  the  stream.  Panic-stricken, 
the  other  two  dropj)ed  into  the  vivvv 
and  began  to  swim  down  stream  with 
all  their  might.  They  kept  an  eye  on 
the  scout  and  at  the  flash  of  his  gun 
they  ducked  their  heads  and  the  ball 
bounded  away  over  the  still  water. 
Soon  they  were  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  rifle.  Returning  to  their  own  side 
of  the  river,  they  crept  away  in  the 
twilight,  and  the  ever  sad  and  thought- 
ful    scout     stood     still     by     the     silent 


I! 


w  II 


84 


THE  rnOSPECTOIi. 


! 


*ii 


stream,  watcliing  tlie  little  red  pools  of 
1)1o<m1  on  tlie  })i'oji(l  ]>os()in  of  the 
slowly    running   I'iver. 

Three  of  the  ahundoned  l)ronehos 
turned  ])ack.  Four  crofssed  over  to 
Creede  and  were  taken   to  eani[). 

The  two  wad  and  lonely  Sioux  had 
mme  but  a  short  distanee  from  the 
river,  when  one  of  them  fell  fainting 
and  soon  bled  to  death.  He  had  been 
wounded  by  a  bullet  which  had  jmssed 
through  one  of  his  companions  who 
was  killed  in  the  sti'eam.  The  remain- 
ing Indian  w^as  afterwards  captured  in 
battle  and  he  told  this  story  to  his 
captors,  just  as  it  was  told  to  the 
writer  by  the  man  who  risked  his  life 
so  fearlessly  in  the  service  of  Uncle 
Sam. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SIT-TA-KE-KIT  SCALPED  ALIVE ASA  IN- 
DIAN NKVEU  CAKES  TO  LIVE  AFTEU  HE 
HAS     LOST    HIS    SCALP. 


1^ 

I  111 

111 


DITUING  the  mouth  of  Miiy,  ISr*."), 
tlic  scouts  were  giv(m  permission 
to  «^()  witli  the  Pciwnees  ou  their  ainuuil 
Imfftilo  hunt.  The  Pawuees  were  greatly 
pleased,  for  where  there  are  buffah)es 
there  are  ludiaus;  and  the  Sioux  were 
ever  on  the  h)okout  for  an  oj)porlunity 
to  dro[)  in  ou  the  Pawnees  when  they 
were  least  expected.  Late  one  after- 
noon a  pai'ty,  eight  in  number,  of  the 
scouts  T)eeame  se])arated  from  the  main 
force  during  the  excitement  incident  to 
a  chase  after  buffaloes;  and,  })efore  they 
had  the  slii'htest  hint  of  danujer,  were 
completely  surrounded  by  a  band   of   at 


m 

*    J 

*      1 

'    *        1 

■^        1 

vl 

86 


THK   PROSPECTOR. 


!*      \^- 


ii 


>   I 

I 


Ii 


least  two  IiuiulrtMl  Sioux  The  hunters 
were  in  a  siiiall  baHin  in  the  sand-hills 
while  the  low  bluffs  fairly  bristled  with 
feathers.  The  Sioux  would  dash  for- 
ward, shoot,  and  then  retreat.  Lieuten- 
ant C/'reede,  two  other  white  men  and 
fiv(;  Pawnees  eoni[)osed  the  party  of 
scouts.  This  little  band  formed  a  circle 
of  their  horses,  l>ut  at  the  first  charge 
of  the  savage  Sioux,  the  poor  aninuils 
yank  to  the  sand  and  died.  The  scouts 
now  crouched  by  the  dead  horses,  and 
half  a  dozen  Sioux  fell  during  the  next 
charge.  One  savage  who  appeared  to 
be  more  fearless  than  the  rest,  dashed 
forward,  evidently  intending  to  ride 
over  the  little  band  of  scouts.  Alas 
for  him!  there  were  besides  the  Lieuten- 
ant, three  sure  shots  in  that  little  circle, 
and  b(;fore  this  daring  brave  had  gotten 
within  fifty  yards  of  the  horse-works,  a 
bullet      ]>i(Mced     his    l)rain.     Instead    of 


CHAPTER   IX. 


87 


dropping  to  the  ground  and  dying  na 
most  men  do,  this  Indian  began  to  leap 
and  bound  about,  exactly  like  a  chicken 
with  its  head  cut  off,  never  stopping 
until  he  rolled  down  within  fifteen  feet 
of  the  scouts. 

There  was  a  l>oy  in  Creed(^\s  party, 
Sit-ta-re-kit  by  name,  a  very  intc^lligent 
Pawnee,  eighteen  years  old,  who  had 
gone  with  the  Lieutenant  to  Washing- 
ton to  see  the  President  of  the  United 
States.  There  seemed  to  be  no  shadow 
of  hope  for  the  scouts  ;  and  this  young 
man  started  to  run.  Inasmuch  as  he 
started  in  the  dii'ection  of  the  camj), 
which  w\as  but  a  mile  away,  it  is  but 
fair  to  suggest  that  he  may  have  taken 
this  fatal  step  with  the  hojie  of  notif}^- 
ing  the  Pawnees  of  the  state  of  affaii's. 
This  was  the  opinion  of  Lieutenant 
Creede ;  while  others  thought  he  was 
driven  wild   by  the   despeiate   surround - 


11 


m 


ll 


^'  I 

« •1*1 


t'l  PI 


mm 


88 


TIIK    I'liOSPKCTon, 


•     iS: 


inc^s.  Tic  lijid  <r(tt\v  less  than  a  liun- 
(Ircd  yards  wlicn  a  Sioux  rodi^  up  be- 
h\{\o  liim  and  felled  him  to  tlu^  t^round 
witli  a  war  clnh.  The  youiii;  scout 
Rtarted    to  rise,  was  on    his  knees,  when 


i  m 


^S^^^^ 


■»« 


the  Sioux,  havinc^  dismounted,  reached 
foi'  tln^  scout^s  liair  with  Ins  left  hand. 
All  this  was  seen  l)y  the  boy's  com[)an- 


lons. 


ii 


Oh,  it  was  awful!"  said  (y^i'ccde,  re- 


latinji;    this    stoiy   to   the    writer 


a 


W( 


had    been    toirether    so    much.     He    was 


m 


CIIAI'TKli    IS. 


§9 


80  brave,  so  honest  and  ho  piod.  Of 
courst*,  he  was  only  an  Indian;  ))Ut  I 
Iiad  learned  to  \i>\'v  him,  and  when  I 
saw  the  steel  Madti  glistcnini^  in  the 
setting  snn — saw  the  savage  at  one 
swift  strokt^  sever  the  sealp  from  that 
l)rav(^  lM)y\s  liead,  I  was  sick  at  lieart." 
After  he  had  heen  scalped,  the  l)(>y  got 
np  and  walked  on,  riglit  hy  the  savage 
Sionx.  II(^  was  safe  eiKMigh  now. 
Nothing  on  earth  wouhl  tempt  an  In- 
dian to  tonch  a  man  Avho  had  heen 
scaliH'd,  not  even  to  kill   him. 


A  P 


ki 


th 


awnee  s(puiw  was  worKing  m  tlie 
field  (me  day  when  a  8i(mx  came  tlown 
and  scalped  her.  She  knew  if  she  re- 
turned    to    her    people    she    would     he 


killed.     It 
short-haired 


was 
omen 


not  fashionable  to  kee]) 


al)out:   and,  in    her 


lespt 


rate   condition,  she  wandered    back 


to    the    agency.     The    agent    was    sorry 
for  her  and    he    took  her   in  and    cured 


I* 


I 


'Ill 


I 


if 


m 


ir 


I  If 
If 

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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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Photographic 

Sciences 
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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


^■^'■-  "^J^ 


^   ■^ 
> 


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J 


90 


THE   PROSPECTOR. 


her  head  and  sent  her  back  to  her  peo- 
ple. But  they  killed  her;  she  had 
been  scalped. 

But  let  us  return  to  the  little  band 
in  the  basin  surrounded  by  the  Sioux. 
It  is  indeed  a  small  band  now.  I^our 
of  them  are  dead,  one  scalped  and  gone  ; 
but  as  often  as  their  Winchesters  bark, 
a  Sioux  drops.  There  was  nothing  left 
for  them  now  but  to  fight  on  to  the 
end. 

Death  in  this  way  was  better  than 
beinor  burned  alive.  There  was  no 
hope — not  a  shadow;  for,  how  were 
they  to  know  that  one  of  their  com- 
panions had  seen  the  Sioux  surround 
them  and  that  the  whole  force  of  Paw- 
nee scouts  were  riding  to  the  relief  of 
this  handful  of  men,  who  were  amusing 
themselves  at  rifle  practice  while  they 
waited  for  death. 

With   a  wild  yell,  they  dashed   down 


CHAPTER    IX. 


91 


upon  the  murderous  Sioux,  and,  without 
firing  a  shot,  they  fled  from  the  fieUl, 
leaving  thirteen  unlucky  Indians  upon 
the  battle  ground. 

The  brave  boy  never  returned.  He 
took  his  own  life,  perhaps  ;  for  an  In- 
dian never  cares  to  live  after  lie  lias 
lost  his  scalp,  knowing  that  his  com- 
panions look  upon  him  as  they  look 
upon  the  dead. 


•  I  %n 


i 


n 


III 


S 


m 


;"  ^ 
"'  "*  fi 

r  J* 

i:lt 
I'  if 


■    it, 


ill 


»l: 


CHAPTER  X. 

LOYAL   IN   FRIENDSHIP,   TRUE   TO   A 
TRUST  —  A   CRUEL   CAPTAIN. 

\T  C.  CREEDE,  the  Prince  of  Pros- 
*'  ^  pectors  and  new-made  million- 
aire, is  one  of  the  gentlest  men  I  have 
ever  mer,  notwithstandinc:  most  of  his 
life  has  been  spent  in  scenes  not  .con- 
ducive to  gentleness.  His  friendship  is 
loyal  and  lasting  ;  and  he  is  as  true  to 
a  trust  as  the  sunflower  is  to  the  sun. 
Although  a  daring  scout  and  fearless 
Indian  fighter,  he  is  as  tender  and  sym- 
pathic  as  the  hero  of  the  ^^  Light  of 
Asiay 

Creede  and  I  were  traveling  by  the 
same  train  one  day,  when  he  asked  me 
if    I     knew     a     certain     soldier-man — a 

Captain  Somebody;  and  I  said,  "No." 

92 


CHAPTER  X. 


on 


"I  raised  my  rifle  to  kill  him  one 
day  and  an  Indian  saved  Lis  life,"  said 
he,  musingly. 

I  looked  at  the  sad  face  of  my  com- 
panion in  great  surprise.  I  could 
hardly  believe  him  capable  of  taking  a 
human  life,  and  I  asked  him  to  tell  me 
the  story. 

"  It  was  in  '()5,  I  believe,"  he  began. 
"  We  had  just  ca[)tured  a  village  on  a 
tributary  of  the  Yellowstone,  and  were 
returning  to  our  (piarters  on  Pole 
Creek.  Just  before  going  into  camp, 
we  came  upon  five  stray  Sioux,  who 
had  ])een  hunting  and  were  returning 
to  their  camp  on  foot.  Two  of  the 
Sioux  were  killed  and  three  captured. 
On  the  following  morning,  General 
Augur,  who  was  in  command,  gavt; 
orders  to  my  Captain  to  take  thirty 
picked  scouts  and  go  on  an  exploring 
trip,    and    t.>    take    the    three     captives 


•1  <q 


lit'' 

f! 

I 

'I 

I 

40 


ill] 


fiit 

Hi; 

.    IE* 


1   , 


I 


94 


TTJK  PROSPECTOR. 


fS  ■■ 


I, 


with  us,  giving  special  orders  to  see 
that  none  of  the  prisoners  escaped. 

"  When  everything  was  in  readiness, 
the  tliree  Sionx  were  brought  out  and 
placed  on  unsachlhnl  ponies,  with  their 
hands  tied  heliind  tlieni.  Not  a  word 
couhl  tliey  utter  that  we  couhl  un(hM'- 
stand  ;  hut  O,  th(^  mute  ph'ading  and 
silent  prayers  of  those  poor  captives  ! 
It  was  a  dreary  A[)ril  morning;  the 
clouds  hung  low  and  the  very  leavens 
seemed  i*eady  to  weep  for  the  poor, 
helpless  Indians. 

"  I  don't  know  why  they  did,  but 
every  few  moments,  as  we  rode  slowly 
and  silently  across  the  dank  plain,  they 
would  turn  their  sad  eyes  to  me,  so 
full  of  voiceless  pleading  that  I  found 
it  was  impossible  to  hold  my  peace 
longer.  Riding  up  to  the  side  of  the 
Captain,  I  asked  him  what  he  intended 
to    do   with    the    captives.      '  Wait    and 


I* 


CHAI'TKIi    X. 


1)5 


y(>ii  will  sec,'  was  his  aiiswor. 
'What/  said  I,  'you  (hui't  mean  to 
kill  them?  That  would  l)e  cold -blooded 
murder.'  '  I'll  see  that  they  don't  get 
away,'  said  the  cruel  ,  Captain.  I 
thought  if  he  wcuild  only  give  them  a 
show,  and  suggested  that  we  let  them 
go  two  hundred  yards,  untie  their 
hands  and  tell  them  to  fly;  l)ut  to  this 
proposition  he  nuide  no  reply.  Then  we 
went  on  silently,  the  poor  captives  rid- 
ing with  bowed  heads,  dreaming  day- 
dreams, no  doubt,  of  leafy  arboles  and 
running  streams;  of  the  herds  of  buffalo 
that  were  bounding  away  o'er  the  dis- 
tant  plain. 

"  The  scouts  were  all  Pawnees,  and 
their  hatred  for  the  Sioux  dated  frv^m 
the  breaking  of  a  treaty  by  the  latter, 
some  time  previous.  After  the  treaty 
had  been  completed,  the  two  tribes 
started  on   a  buffalo   hunt.     When   they 


III" 
I  tij 

!ii 

If' 


'If 


'■\m 


m 


'n 


.ft  1 

ill}  ^ 
\% 


'f»»,T"-T;yT»V"n(TT'' 


1)6 


THE   J'ltOSI'ECTUli. 


arrived  at  the  Republican  River,  and 
the  Pawnees  had  partly  crossed,  and 
the  rest  were  in  the  stream,  the  Sioux 
opened  fire  upon  them  and  slew  them 
witlMJUt  mercy.  The  Pawnee  were  di- 
vided into  threti  bands  by  this  treacher- 
ous slaughter  and  U' ver  got  together 
afterward.  The  bitterest  hatred  existed 
between  the  two  tribes,  and  iha  Gov- 
ernment was  using  one  to  suppress  the 
other. 

*'  The  three  captives  would  never  have 
surrendered  to  the  Pawnees  had  they 
not  seen  the  white  men,  to  whom  they 
looked  for  mercy.  How  unworthy  they 
were  of  this  confidence,  we  shall  soon 
see. 

*'  The  Pawnees  were  by  no  means 
merciful.  I  have  heard  them  tell  often, 
how  they  skinned  a  man  alive  at  Raw- 
hide, a  little  stream  in  Nel)raska,  with 
all     the     gruesome     and    blood-curdling 


CUAPTER   X. 


97 


gestures.  The  white  man,  the  victim  of 
the  skinners,  had  made  a  threat  that 
he  would  kill  the  first  Indian  he  saw. 
It  lia})pened  to  l)e  a  squaw  ;  but  the 
man  ke2)t  his  word.  Ilis'rifie  cracked 
and  the  squaw  droj^ped  dead.  Tiie 
train  had  gone  but  a  few  miles  when 
the  Indians  overtook  the  wagons  and 
foiced  tlieni  to  return  to  th(^  scene  of 
the  shooting,  where  they  formed  a  cir- 
cle, led  the  victim  to  the  center,  and 
actually  skinned  him  alive,  while  his 
companions    were     compelled     to     look 


on. 


1^ 


I  agreed  that  all  this  was  interesting; 
but  insisted  upon  hearing  the  story  of 
the  cruel  Captain  and  the  captives. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  prospector. 
"  Well,  I  had  dropped  back  a  few  feet, 
two  of  the  naked  Indians  were  riding 
in  front  of  the  Captain,  w^hen  he  lifted 
his  pistol ;     it  cracked  and  I  saw  a  little 


i 


ill 


211'!: 


•1  «t  t 

(irf 


8 


i: 


I'f 


:|   r 


\}H 


THE   riiOSJ'EC'lOU. 


red  Hp)t  in  tlu^  ]>are  Imck  of  one  of 
the  l)oun(l  cj.iptivcs.  His  fettered  arnia 
raised  sliglitly;  his  liead  went  ])aek, 
and  lie  dropped  from  tlie  horse,  dead. 
The  pistol  cracked  again:  Another  little 


*( 


Pi 


! 


k 

It 
Ml 


red  spot  showed  up  between  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  other  Indian.  I  felt  the 
hot  blood  rush  to  my  face,  and  impul- 
sively raised  my  rifle — mechanically,  as 
the  uatiiral  helper  of  tho  oppressed — 
when  a  Pawnee,  who  was   riding   at  my 


If 


.'T 


•il 


rilAI'TKIi   X. 


\)^ 


Midc,  n'ju'lu'd  out,  j^raspod  my  i^un, 
and  said,  '  No  nlioot  'iiii/ 

"  ^riu;  third  captive,  wli(»  was  riding 
beliiiid  witli  i\w  Indian  8c<uits,  at- 
tomptt'd  to  cHcapc,  seeing  liow  liis  e<»ni- 
panions  were  ])eing  murdered,  Imt  was 
killed  l>y  the  guard. 

"  Tln^  Captain  dismounted  and  scalped 
the  two  victims  with  a  dull  pocket- 
knife,  and  afterward  told  how  they 
ndled  up  their  eyes  and  looked  at  him 
like  a  dvint^  calf. 

"I  could  tell  you  more;  but  when  I 
think  of  that  murder,  it  makes  me  sick 
at  heart,  and  I  can  see  that  awful 
scene  enacted  again." 


4H 


I 


1  II 


1 


III 


■I 


•  ' 


I 


fflli 


■  • 
i 


CllAPTEU  XI. 

A  (ILIMPSK  OK  TlIK  KCM'KIKS — TIIK  I' AT II 
OK  TIIK  I'UOSPKCTOK,  MKK  Til  AT  OK 
TIIK    I'OKT,    LIES    IN    A    STONY     A'AY. 

Mil.  CliEEDE'S  Mucci'Hs  is  due  largely 
to  his  lusting  lov(^  for  the  iiiount- 
ains,  which  was  lov(!  at  first  sight.  It 
was  in  1S(>2  that  the  scouts  were 
4»r<lere(l  to  Dakota;  and  it  was  then  \w 
saw  for  the  first  time  the  grand  old 
Rockies.  They  were  neai'ing  the  Big 
Horn  Kange,  and  the  sight  of  snow  in 
August  was  something  the  Indians  of 
the  plains  could  not  understand.  In 
fact,  they  insisted  that  it  was  not  snow, 
hut  white  earth,  and  offered  to  stake 
their  savings  on  the  proposition.  Some 
of  them  were  foolish  enough  to  bet 
their  ponies  that  there  was  no  snow  on 
the  ground  in  summer  time.     Late  that 


100 


nl 


CIlAI'lHi:    A/. 


101 


fvciiiiig  (licy  (.anijMMl  at  (lie  f.M.t  of  tl„. 
raiii^'c,  and  mi  tin-  fdh.wini^.  iimniinir, 
four  iiu-n  wnv  snit  up  to  iiivcstiurah. 
hikI  i\vvu\v  the  l»(.ts.  Thr  ivsult  was  a 
cliaiio;,-  of  I.nrscs,  in  wl.i,.},  the  Indians 
goi  the  worst  <»f  tlu;  hari^^iin.  F<,r 
nearly  a  week  tln-y  lin^^.^.(l  in  tin- 
slirdi.ws      (.f     the     cooliih' 


— ^*3. 


m 


1  ti" 

II 
til 


1 


:■( 


3'8' 


«i. 


102 


THE    PltOSPECTOn. 


Wlu'ii,  Home  years  later,  the  scouts 
were  imisterod  out  of  service,  Creede 
returned  to  Ins  old  Iioiik;  in  Iowa.  But 
lie  soon  tired  of  the  dull,  [)rosy  life 
they  led  there  ;  and,  remembering  the 
scent  of  wihl  flowers  and  the  })almy 
breeze  that  blew  down  the  cool  canons 
of  the  Big  Horn  Mountains,  he  deter- 
mined to  return  to  the  region  of  the 
U(K'kies.  Already  he  had  seen  his 
share  of  service,  it  would  seem.  For 
nn  '.?  than  a  dozen  years  he  had  slept 
where  night  had  found  him,  with  no 
place  he  couhl  call  his  home  ;  and  yet 
there  are  still  a  dozen  years  of  doubt 
and  danger  through  which  he  must 
pass.  For  him  the  trail  that  leads  to 
fortune  and  fame,  is  a  long  one  ;  and 
many  camps  must  be  made  between  his 
pallet  on  the  plains  and  his  mansion 
by  the  sea.  The  path  of  the  pros- 
pector, like   that  of  the  poet,  lies  in  a 


'W 


CHAPTER  XI. 


103 


stony  way,   and    nothing  is  truer    than 
the  declaration   that  : 

The  road  is  rough  and  rocky,— 

The  road  that  leads  to  fame; 
The  way  is  strewn  with  skeletons 

Of  those  who  have  grown  lame 
And  have  fallen  by  the  wayside. 

The  world  will   pass  you  by, 
Nor  pause  to  read  your  manuscript 

Till  you  go  otr  and  die. 


.1 

!    I' 


Ill 


in 

Til 


it 

1 1 

n 

II 

■I' 


n 


If 

If 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN     COLORADO TIIK    I'UOSPECTOU    LABORED 

AND    LOOKED  AWAY  TO   THE    MOUNTAINS. 

THE  lif«i  of  a  prospector  is  one 
fraught  witli  lijir(]slii[)s  and  jiriva- 
tions  and,  in  locations  infested  l)y  In- 
dians, often  one  of  peril.  Bnt  in  liis 
search  for  the  precious  metals,  the 
hardy  piospector  gives  but  little 
thought  to  personal  danger.  With  his 
bedding,  tools  and  provisions,  packed 
upon  the  backs  of  trusty  little  burros, 
he  turns  from  the  haunts  of  men  and 
plunges  into  the  trackless  wilds  of  the 
mountains.  Guided  l)y  the  star  of  hope, 
he  pursues  his  ceasel(»ss  explorations  in 
the  face  of  hardships  which  would 
appall  any  heart   not   buoyed  up    by    a 

keen   expectation   <^f   "  striking    it  rich " 

104 


Ill 

'll 


CHAPTER   XII. 


105 


in    the   near  future,    md    sjH'ini^ing    at 
one    bound   from    pov^erty  to  wealth. 

Of  the  great  army  of  prospectors 
constantly  seeking  to  unearth  the  vast 
treasure  hidden  in  the  rocky  })reast  of 
the  mountain  ranfijes  of  the  West,  few 
attain  a  realization  of  the  hopes  which 
lead  them  onward,  and  secure  the 
wealth  for  which  they  so  persistently 
toiL  The  instances  ar<^  very  rare  in 
which  the  prospector  has  reaped  an 
adequate  reward  for  his  discoveries. 
In  the  great  majority  of  cases  where 
really  valuable  leads  have  been  located, 
the  discoverers,  not  possessing  the  capi- 
tal necessary  to  develop  them,  have 
accepted  the  first  offer  for  their  pur- 
chase, and  have  sold  for  a  mere  song 
properties  which  have  brought  millions 
to  those  who  secured  them.  The  most 
notable  instance  in  the  annals  of  min- 
insr    in    the   West,   where     fortune     has 


I  At 


1  fi^ 


11 
ll. 

.(11 


m> 


r 


I' 


vl<  If 

K 

I  j^ 

ji  w 

•9 


100 


THK   I'JiOSrKCTOIi. 


rewanlcd  the  prospector  for  liis  labors, 
is  tliat  ill  which  figures  Mr.  N.  C. 
Creede.  His  is  a  life  tinged  with  ro- 
mance from  boyhood  to  the  present 
time.  This  story  may  serve  as  an  in- 
centive to  less  fortunate  prosj)ectors  to 
[)ush  onward  with  renewed  hopes  ;  for 
in  the  gr(;at  mountain  ranges  of  the 
West,  untold  riches  yet  lie  hidden  from 
the  eye  of  man. 

The  register  at  the  Drover's  Hotel, 
Pueblo,  if  it  had  a  register,  held  the 
name  of  N.  C.  Creede.  some  time  in  the 
fall  of  1(S70.  He  marveled  much  at  the 
Mexicans.  For  years  he  had  lived 
among  the  Indians  and  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  many  tribes  ;  but  this 
dark,  sad -faced  man,  was  a  new  sort  of 
Red  Skin. 

Pueblo  in  '70,  was  not  the  city  we 
see  there  to-day.  It  was  a  dreary  clus- 
ter of   adobe   houses,  built   about  a   big 


It 


CHAPTKIi  XII. 


\i)\ 


cotton -wood  tree  on  the  banks  of  a 
poor  little  river  that  went  creeping 
away  toward  the  plain,  pausing  in 
every  pool  to  rest,  having  run  all  the 
way  from  Tennessee  Pass  ove"  a  rocky 
road  through  the  Royal  Gorge. 

Less  than  thirty  summers  had 
brouglit  their  bloom  to  him,  ])ut  he 
felt  old.  Life  was  long  and  tlie  seven 
years  of  hard  service  on  the  plains  had 
made  him  a  sad  and  silent  man.  So 
much  of  sorrow,  so  much  of  suffering 
had  he  seen  that  he  seldom  smiled  and 
was  much  alone.  Away  from  his  old 
companions,  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land, 
he  looked  away  to  the  snow-capped 
crest  of  the  Sangre  de  Christo  and 
said :  "  There  will  I  go  and  find  my 
fortune."  Then  he  rememl)ered  lie  was 
poor.  But  he  was  young,  strong  and 
willing  to  work,  and  he  soon  found 
employment     with    Mi*.     Robert    Grant, 


JC 


m. 


!|l'! 


(I 


5; 


;  i; 


■j 


I 


« 


108 


THE    PliOSPKCrOR. 


who  was  very  kind  to  this  lone  man  in 
many  ways.  For  six  months  he  labored 
and  looked  away  to  the  mountains, 
whose  stony  vaults  held  a  fortune  and 
fame  for  him.  In  the  spring  of  1871, 
the  amateur  prospector  went  away  to 
the  hills  and  spent  the  summer  hunt- 
ing, fishing  and  looking  for  quartz. 
After  this,  life  away  from  the  grand 
old  mountait's  was  not  the  life  for  him. 
Here  was  his  habitation.  This  should 
be   his  home. 


P 


^ae!K4 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

FRUITLESS  SEARCHES — MET  A  STREAK  OF 
HARD  LUCK — BUT  LATER  HE  STOOD  ON 
THE     SUN- KISSED     SUMMIT. 


m 


♦♦:! 

I 


THE  winter  of  1871-2  was  spent  at 
*  Del  Norte,  and  in  the  following 
spring  Creede,  with  a  party  of  pros[)ect- 
ors,  went  to  Elizabeth  town,  New  Mex- 
ico. This  town  was  a  new  one,  but 
was  attracting  considerable  attention  as 
a  placer  field.  Like  a  great  many  other 
mining  camps,  the  place  was  overdone, 
and  unless  a  man  had  money  to  live 
on,  the  outlook  was  not  very  cheerful. 
Finding  no  work  to  do  the  young  pros- 
pector staked  a  placer  claim  and  com- 
menced operations  single-handed  and 
alone,  and  the  end  of  the  third  day, 
cleaned    up   and   found    himself   in   pos- 


JOO 


1    ih 


^ 


'1:1 


\  if 


) 


MO 


THE   PliOSPKCTOli. 


session  of  nint  dollars'  worth  <>f  gold 
dust.  This  gave  liini  new  courage.  lie 
woi'ked  all  tht^  summer  ;  hut  when  win- 
ter came  on,  he  discovered  that  after 
])ayi  g  his  living  exj^c^nses  which  are 
always  lofty  in  a  new  camp,  he  had 
<mly  mad(^  fair  wages  ;  the  most  he 
had  made  in  a  single  day  was  nine 
dollars. 

The  winter  following  found  the  pros- 
pector in  Pueblo  again,  working  for 
another  stake,  this  time  in  the  employ 
of  Mr.  Geoi-ge  Gill)ei't.  Earlv  in  the 
sj)ring  of  187J5,  he  took  the  trail. 
Upon  this  occasion,  he  found  his  way 
to  Rosita  in  Custer  County  where  the 
famous  Bassick  Mine  was  afterward  dis- 
covei'ed,  and  within  a  few  miles  of  Sil- 
ver Cliff,  which  Av^is  destined  to  attract 
the  attention  of  so  many  [)ros[)ectors, 
bringing  into  the  mining  world  so 
much   shadow   and   so   little   shine. 


1.  ' 


ClIAPTKU   A///. 


Ill 


From  Uosit.'i  In*  went  to  the  Sjiii 
Jiiaii  ilisti'U't  Hinl  [U'osjM'ctcil  f(»r  several 
iiioiiths,  n'tmiKMl  to  till'  cast  si<le  of  tlie 
ningc,  jind  finally  iiwule  a  sccoimI  trip 
to  the  Sail  Juan,  »ut  found  nothing 
worth    the  assessment   work. 

About  this  time  the  Gunnison  coun- 
try began  t(»  attract  atterition  and  with 
other  fortune-seekers  Creede  went  there. 
This  tri[),  like  all  his  pnjspeeting  tours 
west  of  the  "Great  Divide"  panned 
poorly.  Never  did  lie  make  a  discov- 
ery of  importance  on  the  western  slope, 
and  now  he  made  a  trip  to  Leadville. 
Here  he  met  with  a  Avell -defined  streak 
of  hard  luck.  After  hunting  in  vain 
for  a  fortune,  he  was  taken  with  pneu- 
monia, lingered  for  a  long  time 
between  life  and  death,  but  finally 
recovered.  If  Creede  had  died  then, 
he  would  have  received,  probably,  four 
lines  in  the  Herald^  which  would  have 


!;!f 


I  if 


\  if 

■>  I 
1 1 


\ 


V 


112 


THt:    I'liUSl'KLTUU. 


t 


Imh'Ii  to  the  I'ffi'ct  that  n  jnoHpcctor  had 
died  of  piK'Uiiioiiia  ill  his  cahiii  at  the 
head  of  (*alifoniia  (iulcli,  and  had  lu'cu 
dead  soiiic  tiiiK?  wlieii  discovered,  as 
the  corpsi^  was  cohl  and  the  fire  out. 
lie  was  of  no  i^ieat  importance  at  tliat 
time,  luit  sinc(^  then  lie  has  marched 
from  Monarch  to  the  banks  of  the  Rio 
Grande,  leaving  a  silver  trail  behind 
liim,  until  at  last,  standing  on  the  sun- 
kissed  summit  of  Bachelor  mountain, 
he  can  look  back  aloiiLf  the  trail  and 
see  the  camj)- fires  that  he  lighted  with 
tired  hands,  trembling  in  the  cold, 
burning  brightly  where  the  waste 
places  have  been  made  glad  by  the 
building  of  hundreds  of  happy  homes. 
Creede  has  labored  long  and  faith- 
fully for  what  he  has,  never  shrinking 
from  the  task  the  gods  seem  to  have 
set  before  him.  Almost  from  his  in- 
fancy   he    has     been     compelled    to    do 


•I 


\^ 


1 1";       I 


\N 


< 

i. ' 

'  mm 

;;iil 


I  I 


I  i  if 


I  I 


1  I 


li- 


lt 


I  ' 


CIIM'TKIi    Mil. 


Ii:t 


hattlr  with  the  woild  ahmr,  and  thr 
writer  i.s  [uoud  of  thr  privih^i^e  <»f  tell- 
ing tlie  Htory  of  his  life,  givini;  eredit 
where  credit  is  due,  and  putting  tln^ 
Htuiiip  of  perfidity  upon  the  Imnd  of 
stool-pigeoiiH  who  Imve  cHiiiped  on  hih 
trail  for  the  purpose  of  ckimiug  credit 
for   what   he   did. 


ft.! 

II 

II 

i 


I'll 


if' 

:.if 


•  If 


I  If 
i  ft  H 


-.1' 


CUAPTEU  XIV. 

THE       MONAUCir      OAMP — JEALOUS       MINERS 
WANTED    THE    NAME   CHANGED. 

r^HIEST  fires   started  by   the   Iiidiaiis, 

•      carelessly    or    out   of    [)ure    deviltry, 

had    s\ve[)t   the    hills   to    the  east  of  the 

divi(h!    in    Chaffee  County,  and    sufficient 

time  had  elapsed  to  allow  a   ponipadour 

of    pine   to    grow   in   the   crest    of     the 

continent,   so    thick   that   it   was    almost 

impenetrable.     In     July,     1878,     having 

chopped    a    trail     through     this     forest, 

Creede   came   to   the   head   of    the   little 

stream   whei'e    the    prosperous     town   of 

Monarch  now  stands.     For  thirteen  days 

the   prospector   was    there   alone,    not   a 

soul  nearer  than  Poncha  Springs,  fifteen 

or  twenty  miles   away. 

114 


CHAPTKli   XIV 


115 


Elk,  (leer  and  bear  were  there  m 
abundance,  and  the  prospector  had  little 
difficulty  in  supplying  himself  with 
fresh  meat.  In  fact,  the  bear  were 
most  too  convenient,— they  insisted 
upon  coming  in  and  dining  with  the 
silver-seeker. 

Creede   located  a   claim,   called   it  the 
Monarch,    and    gave   the   same    name    to 
the   c;  :np.     Among    the   first   claims  lo- 
cated    was      one      called    the      "Little 
Charm."     It  proved  to  be  a  good  proj)- 
erty  — but   not   till   it    had    passed   into 
other     hands.     The     formation     in     the 
Monarch   district   w\as   limestone,  and   in 
liUiestone    the    prospector    never    knows 
what    he    has.     To-day   he    may   be    in 
pay  ore  and   to-morrow  pick   it  all  out. 
Creede  had   picked   out   some  promising 
prospects    in    the    same    formation.     He 
had    discovered   the   Madonna,   ]>ut    had 
more      than      he      could      handle.       He 


('HI 


ti, 

ll'l 


•T   .1 

rt 

PS' 


110 


THE   PltOSrECTOIi. 


Il 


took    Smith    and    Gray     up    there    and 
told     them    where     to    dig  ;     they     dug 

the  Madonna   claim. 

it  and  worked  the 

for     five    years 

sold  it  to  Eylers 

of    Pueblo    for 

sixty  thousand 

dollars. 


and  located 
They  kept 
assessments 
and      then 


AMKTIIYST    TUAMWAY. 


CL  HICMfcnS  -6''%' 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


117 


The  ore  is  very  low  grade,  but  was 
of  great  value  to  these  men,  who  were 
smelters,   for  the   lead   it   carried. 

By  the  time  the  snow  began  to  fall 
there  were  a  numl)er  of  prospectors  in 
the  nev/  camp,  and  having  tired  of  the 
place,  which  was  one  of  the  hardest, 
roughest  regions  in  the  state,  Creede 
sold  what  claims  he  had  for  one  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  dollars,  but  re- 
turned every  summer  for  five  years, 
cleaning  up  in  all  about  three  thou- 
sand dollars. 

In  Monarch,  as  in  his  last  success, 
there  were  a  number  of  jealous  miners 
who  wanted  the  name  of  the  camp 
changed. 

They  were,  or  most  of  them,  at  least, 
light-weight  politicians,  who  did  n't  care 
a  cent  what  the  town  was  called  so 
long  as  they  had  the  honor  of  naming 
it,  but  the  name  was  never  changed. 


^' 


it 


CHA.PTER  XV. 


BONANZA       CAMP THK      PONCIIA       BANK 

(JIJKKJ)K       DKTKUMINES      TO     SEE     OTHER 
SECTIONS. 


LEAVING  Monarch,  the  prospector 
journeyed  through  Poncha  Pass,  over 
into  the  San  Luis  Valley,  and  l)ej,^an  to 
climl)  the  hills  behind  the  Sangre  de 
Christo  range.  On  a  little  stream  called 
Silver  Creek  he  made  a  number  of  loca- 
tions, among  them  the  Bonanza,  and  he 
called  the  new  camp  by  that  name,  just 
as  he  named  Monarch  after  what  he 
considered  his  best  claim.  The  country 
here  was  more  accessible  and  conse- 
(piently  a  more  desirable  field  for  pros- 
pecting. South  of  Bonanza,  Creede 
located  the  "  Twin  Mines,"  which  proved 
to    be    good    property.     The   ore   in    the 


CHAPTER  XV. 


119 


twin  claims  carried  two  ounces  oi  gold 
to  the  ton. 

A  year  later  when  the  pioneer  pros- 
pector decided  to  pull  out  and  seek 
new  fields,  he  was  able  to  realize  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  in  good,  hard-earned 
money.  One  claim  Avas  sold  for  two 
thousand  dollars,  the  money  to  he  de- 
posited in  llaynolds'  bank  at  Salida  ; 
but  the  purchasers  for  some  reason  in- 
sisted that  the  money  be  deposited  in  a 
Poncha  bank,  very  little  known  at  that 
time,  ))ut  whose  president  shortly  after- 
ward killed  his  man  and  became  well, 
but  not  favorably,  known.  Oreede's  two 
thousand  dollars  went  to  the  banker's 
lawyers.  The  bank  closed,  and  now 
you  may  see  the  ex-president  in  a  little 
mountain  town  pleading  at  the  bar-r-not 
the  bar  of  justice. 

The  camp  has  never  astonished  the 
mining     w^orld,    but     it     has     furnished 


i' 


m 


120 


THE    PROSPECTOIi. 


employment  for  a  number  of  people, 
Jind  that  is  good  and  ehows  that  the 
West  and  the  whole  world  is  richer 
and  Ijetter  because  of  the  discoveries 
of   Creede. 

Creede  now  determined  to  see  a  little, 
and  learn  something  of  mining  in  other 
sections  of  the  West.  Leaving  Colorado, 
he  traveled  through  Utah,  Nevada,  Ari- 
zona and  California,  prospecting  and 
studying  the  formation  of  the  country 
in  the  different  mining  camps.  The 
knowledge  gained  on  this  trip  proved 
valuable  to  the  prospector  in  after 
years.  This  was  his  school.  The  wide 
West  was  his  school-house,  and  Nature 
was  his  teacher. 


CPIArTER  XVI. 

A     ItEAU     STORY — THE     IlEAST    IXFITIUATED 
A    NEW    J3AN(}EK    CONKIJOXTS    HIM. 

A  N  old  prospecting  partner  of  Mr. 
-*  ^  Creede's  told  the  following  story 
to  tlie  writer,  after  tli*^  discovery  of  tlie 
Amethyst,  which  lifte<l  the  discoverer 
into  prominence,  gave  him  fame  and  a 
bank  account — and  gave  every  advent- 
uress who  heai'd  of  his  fortune,  a  new 
field  : 

A  man  by  the  name  of  Chestei-, 
Creede  and  I  were  prosjiecting  in  San 
Miguel  County,  Colorado,  in  the  8()'s. 
We  had  our  camp  in  a  narrow  canon 
by  a  little  mountain  stream.  It  was 
summer  time  ;  the  berries  were  ripe, 
and    bear    were    as    thick    as    sheep   in 

New  Mexico.    About  sunset  one  evening 

121  * 


11^ 

•M 

IILf 


■i> 


I* 


122 


THK    PROSVECTOn. 


T  called  Crccde  out  to  show  him  a 
cow  which  I  had  discovered  on  a  steep 
hillside    near    our    cabin. 

The  moment  the  Captain  saw  the  ani- 
mal he  said  in  .i  stage  whisper  :  "Bear!" 
I  thought  he  was  endeavoi'ing  to  fright- 
en me ;  but  he  soon  convinced  me  that 
he   was   in   earnest. 

Without  taking  his  eyes  from  the 
animal,  he  spoke  again  in  the  same 
stage  whisper,  instructing  me  to  hasten 
and  bring  Chester  with  a  couple  of 
rifles.  When  I  returned  with  the  shoot- 
ing irons  I  gave  the  one  I  carried  to 
Creede,  who  instructed  me  to  climb 
upon  a  sharp  rock  that  stood  up  like 
a  church  spire  in  the  bottom  of  the 
canon.  From  my  high  place  I  was  to 
signal  the  sharp-shooters,  keeping  them 
posted  as  to  the  movements  of  the  bear. 

"  You  come  with  me,"  said  Creede  to 
the    man    who    stood    at    his    side.      It 


CUAPTKR  XVI. 


1 2a 


oct'iinvd  to  nie  now  for  the  first  tiiiu^ 
that  there  was  some  danger  attaclied  to 
this  sport.  I  coiihl  n't  lielp  wondering 
what  would  become  of  me  iu  case  the 
l)ear  got  iXw,  best  of  my  two  partners. 
If  tlie  hear  captured  them  and  got 
possession  of  the  only  two  guns  in  the 
camp,  my  position  on  that  rock  would 
become  embarrassing,  if  not  actually 
dangerous.  I  turned  to  look  at  Ches- 
ter, who  did  not  seem  to  start  when 
Creede  did.  Poor  fellow,  lie  was  as 
pale  as  a  ghost.  "  See  here,"  he  said, 
addressing  the  man  who  was  looking 
back,  smiling  and  beckoning  him  on  as 
he  led  the  way  down  toward  the  noisy 
little  creek  which  they  must  cross  to 
get  in  rifle  range  of  the  bear,  "  I'm  a 
man  of  a  family,  an'  don't  see  why  I 
should  run  headlong  into  a  fight  with  .c 
grizzly  bear.  I  suppose  if  I  was  a  sin- 
gle  man,  I  would    do  as    you    do  ;  but 


II. » 


u 


1^1 


1     i 


y  « 


124 


THE   PROSPECTOR. 


when  I  think  of  my  ])(M)r  wife  and 
dear  little  children,  it  makes  me  home- 
Hick."  Creede  kept  nniiling  and  heck- 
oniniij  witli  his  forefinger.  I  laughed 
at  Chester  for  l)eiiiir  so  scared.  lie 
finally  followed,  after  asking  me  to  L)ok 
after  Ins  family  in  case  he  failed  to 
return.  Just  as  a  man  would  who  was 
on   his  way  to  the  Tower. 

Having  reached  the  summit  of  the 
rock,  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  big 
bear  coming  down  the  hill,  headed  for 
the  spot  where  the  hunters  stood  coun- 
seling as  to  how  they  should  proceed. 
I  tried  to  shout  a  warning  to  them,  but 
the  creek  made  such  a  fuss  falling  over 
the  rocks  that  they  were  unable  to  hear 
me. 

A  moment  more  and  she  hove  in 
sight,  coming  down  the  slope  on  a  long 
gallop.  Probably  no  man  living  ever 
had    such    an    entertainment    as    I   was 


CnAPTKIi   XVI. 


l-i.") 


al)out  to  witness.  In  New  York  ton 
tliousnnd  people  would  j>ay  ft  Innuln-d 
dollars  ft  Heat  to  He(^  it  ;  but  there  was 
no  time  to  bill  tlu^  country — the  eurtain 
was  U2>  and  the  show  was  on.  Creede, 
who  was  th(^  first  to  see  the  animal, 
shot  one  swift  glance  at  his  com[>anion, 
raised  his  rifle,  a  Marl  in  repeater,  and 
fired.  The  great  beast  sliook  her  head, 
snorted,  increased  lier  pac(^  and  l)ore 
down  upon  lier  assailants.  Again  and 
again  Creede's  rifle  rang  out  upon  the 
evening  air,  and  hearing  no  report  from 
Chester's  gun,  he  turned,  and  to  his 
horror,  saw  his  companion,  rifl(^  in  hand, 
running  for  camj).  Many  a  man  would 
have  wasted  a  shot  on  the  deserter,  but 
Creede  was  too  busy  with  the  bear,  even 
if  he  had  been  so  inclined.  Less  than 
forty  feet  separated  the  combatants 
when  Creede  turned,  and  at  the  next 
shot  I  was  pleased  to  see  the  infuriated 


•Hi 

nj 


% 


(■f 


y^:. 


1 20 


TIIK   I'liOSI'KCTOll. 


animal  drop  ainl  roll  ujmhi  tlie  ground. 
In  another  scrond  hIic  was  up  ui^^iin, 
and  hIki  looked  more  like  a  l)all  of 
Mood  than  an  animal.  Now  nhe  stood 
up  for  ihv.  final  Htrugi,de.  I  saw  Cree<le 
tak<^  deliberate  aim  at  her  hrt^ast.  He 
fired  and  she  fell.  I  shouted  with  joy 
as  I  thought  nhe  must  Ixj  dead  now, 
but  was  surpi'ised  to  see  that  Creede 
was  .still  shooting.  As  raj)idly  as  I 
clapped  my  hands  his  rifle  shouted,  and 
h(^  l)ut  four  mor<^  great  leaden  missiles 
into  the  body  of  the  bear. 

With  that  unaccountable  strength  that 
comes  to  man  and  beast  in  tlie  last 
great  struggle,  the  nuid  monster  stood 
uj)  again.  Nothing  on  earth  or  under 
the  earth  could  be  more  awful  in  ap- 
pearance than  was  this  animal.  One 
eye  had  been  forced  from  the  socket, 
and  stood  out  like  a  great  ball  of  fire. 
Blood    fairly    gushed     from     her    open 


Cfl.HJKR  XV T. 


rj7 


iiKHitli,  Jiixl  the  coarHc,  cc^r^^'^.i?'  stnm- 
pfliiii^  Houiul  that  caiiH;  from  tlit*  tloodcd 
throat,  was  so  awful  that  it  fairly  chilled 
tlu'  l)lood  ill  my  vriiiM.  For  a  second 
.slie  stood  still  and  i^lared  at  her  adver- 
sary as  if  she  would  rest  or  get  a 
breath  Ix'fore  s[)ringing  U[»on  hi:u. 

Ai'ain  I  saw  tlu^  liuiiter  take  deliher- 
ate  aim.  This  tiiiK^  h(^  aimed  at  the 
open  mouth,  tht;  ball  crashed  up 
through  the  brain  and  the  bear  dropped 
dead. 

I  did  not  shout  now.  This  w^as  the 
third  time  I  had  seen  liim  kill  that 
same  bear,  and  I  expected  lier  to  get  up 
again.  Creede  was  not  quite  satisfied, 
for  I  saw  him  hastily  filling  his  maga- 
zine; and  it  was  well. 

The  liunter  stepped  up  to  the  great 
dead  animal  and  placed  his  feet  upon 
her,  as  hunters  are  wont  to  do,  when 
another  danger  confronted  him. 


'W 


H 


'!! 


r 


128 


THE    I'ROSl'ECTOli. 


1:1 


I 


Attnacted  by  tlu;  shooting  and  the 
coai'so  cries  of  the  wounded  ))eai',  her 
mate  came  bounding  down  the  slope  to 
her  rescue. 

The  first  act  liad  })een  interesting,  hut 
I  confess  that  I  was  glad  when  the  cur- 
tain  drojiped.     Ci'eede  was   tired.     Even 


um4fP-- 


CIIAI'TKIi   A' 17 


1  '2\) 


an  experieiic(*(l  hunter  could  liardly  Ih» 
expected  to  go  tlirougli  sucli  a  [)erforni- 
ance  without  experiencing  some  anxiety. 
I  almost  held  my  breath  as  the  l)ig 
animal  bore  down  U})on  the  tired 
hunter.  Nearer  and  nearer  he  came, 
and  Creede  had  not  even  raised  his  rifle 
to  his  shoulder.  Now  the  ])ear  was  less 
than  twenty  feet  away  and  Creede  stood 
still  as  a  statue  with  one  foot  resting 
on  the  body  of  the  dead. 

I  was  so  excited  that  I  sliouted  to 
him  to  shoot,  but  he  never  knew  it ; 
and  if  he  had,  it  would  have  made  no 
difference. 

At  last  the  bear  stopped  within  eight 
feet  of  the  hunter,  and  bear-like,  stood 
up.  Now  the  rifle  was  leveled  and  it 
seemed  to  me  it  would  never  go,  but 
it  did.  The  big  bullet  broke  the  bear's 
neck,  and  he  fell  down  dead  at  the 
hunter's  feet. 


5rl 


rl 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


SMITH,      ABBOTT      AND     CIIEEDE  —  AGKEED 
THEY    ABANDON     THE     HOLE. 


IN  188C)  at  Monarch,  George  L. 
Smitli,  Charles  H.  A})bott  and  N.  C. 
Creecle  formed  a  company  for  prospect- 
ing purposes.  Smith  and  Abbott  were 
to  furnish  the  funds,  while  Creede  did 
the  searching.  This  company  lasted  for 
nearly  four  years,  during  which  time  a 
number  of  locations  were  made,  some  of 
which  they  could  have  sold  at  a  good 
profit ;  but  they  held  on  for  more 
money,  always  spending  liberally  for 
the  development   of   their   property. 

Just  before  the  little  company  went 
to  pieces,  Smith  and  Abbott  went  over 
in  the  mountains  to  where  Creede  with 
two  miners   had   worked   all   winter,  on 


130 


I    I 


CIIM'TKI!  XVIl, 


i;u 


Siu-ing  cVcck.  After  mixV'uu^  a  tlK.r- 
ongh  examination  of  the  iMos|),rts,  it 
was  agrml  that  tl.cy  sl.ouM  alnuKMn 
the  hole  and  ],r(.ak  up  tlie  partncshi].. 
This  action  was  not  taken  luranse  <,f 
any  disagreement  ;  l,ut  the  men  who 
were  putting  up  the  money  were  dis- 
C()urai»-ed. 

Just  before  visiting  the  property, 
Smith  and  Abbott  received  a  lettei- 
from   Creede,  in  whicli  lie  said  : 

"I  notice  by  the  general  tone  of  your 
letters  lately,  that  you  are  ]K)t]i  }>ec()m- 
iiig  discoui-aged  with  my  hard  luck.  1 
assure  you  that  I  am  doing  the  best 
I  can.  Take  new  courage,  stay  with 
me  a  little  longer,  and  I  shall  find 
the  greatest  siher  mine  in  America.  I 
feel    it  in   my    ])ones." 

But  they  had  tried  so  long  and  spent 
so  much  money,  that  they  had  become 
discouraged. 


I 

ii^ 


i 


1 


l\'2 


THE  rnosi'Kcruii. 


Smith,  siiirc  tli.nt  time  lias  made  ii 
.small  foi'tiiiie  out  of  mines.  Senator 
Ab])ott,  who  is  well  known  and  uni- 
versally respected,  is  the  manager  of  a 
Monarch  property  in  which  he  is 
largely  interested.  lie  has  a  home  in 
Denver  where  his  family  live  ;  but 
spends  most  of  his  time  in  the  mount- 
ains, still  toiling,  and  h(»[)ing  that  he, 
too,  may  find  a  fortune  in  the  hoary 
hills. 


11    : 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THK  HOLY  MOSES— KLMAJI  WAS  AWKWAIcl. 
AND  JIAKD  TO  SPELL— WAOON  WHEEL 
GAP. 

CHORTLY  after  the   abandonment  of 
•^    the  claim  on  Spring  Creek,  and  tlie 
withdrawal  of   Senator  Abbott  from  the 
company,    Smitli   and    Creede    went  over 
to  the  head  of  West  Willow.     They  be- 
lieved  that  at  that  point  they  could  find 
an  extension  of  the  vein   they  had  been 
working,   and    Creede    believes    to    this 
day  that  they  did.     Here  they  located  a 
claim.      They     were     not     working     to- 
gether that   day   and  Creede   was   alone 
when  the  location  was  made.     Many  are 
the   stories   that    have   been    told   as    to 
how   the   first  mine   in   the  now  famous 
camp    of   Creede   got   its   name,  none  of 

which   are   within   a   mile   of  the   truth. 

133 


'1 


I'M 


TIIK    riiOSl'KCTon. 


li ' 

h 


Il.'iviiii^  (li'ivcii  ji  stake,  C'rcfdc  sat 
down  to  think  of  ii  name.  There  was 
litths  <U'  nothing  in  a  name,  lie  thought, 
but   lie    wanted  to  please  his  partner. 


He  reniembei'ed  that  Sniitli  had  named 
tliree  claims  in  Monarch,  the  "Ma- 
donna," the  "r'heru])ini,"  and  the  "  Ser- 
ajdjim,"  and  he  would  follow  in  that 
line.      Creede   was    not   well   versed    in 


CliAl'TKli  AV'/y/. 


llW) 


^ 


Bil>lical  history,  so  knew  very  littlr  of 
the  saints  and  ani^'t'ls.  He  looked  al>ove 
where  the  eagle  flew  by  the  i'a<(!^r(.d 
rocks  and  thought  of  Elijah;  how  he 
hid  away  in  the  liills,  and  how  the  ra- 
vens came  down  and  fed  him.  He 
looked  at  liis  torn  and  tattered  trousers, 
and  thought  of  Laziirus.  Neither  of 
these  names  jdeased  liim.  Lazarus  su«^^- 
gested  ])ovei'ty  and  Elijah  was  awkward 
and  hard  to  spell,  lie  looked  away  to 
the  stream  helow,  where  the  wiUows 
were,  and  tliouglit  of  the  l)a))t^  in  the 
bulrushes.  He  looked  at  the  thick  for- 
est of  pine  that  shaded  the  gentle  slopes, 
and  thought  of  the  man  wlio  walked 
in  the  wilderness.  And  he  called  the 
mine  the  Moses  ;  then  feari>ig  that  his 
partner  might  object  even  to  that, 
rubbed  it  out,  and  wrote  "Holy  Moses.'' 
The  story  of  the  new  strike  sj)read 
like   a   prairie   fire,   and    soon   found    its 


'I 

■I'll 

'\n 


It 


1  .'iO 


TIIK  rnosvKCTOR. 


II 


!'! 


way  to  tin;  <*iir.s  of  Mr.  1).  II.  Moffat, 
then  president  of  the  Denver  tt  Rio 
Grande  Railroad  Coni[)any,  who  was 
always  on  the  lookout  for  a  good  mine. 
One  day  in  the  early  autiunn  of  ISDO, 
Mr.  Moffat,  with  a  party  of  friends,  in- 
cluding Mr.  El)  Smith,  his  mining  ex- 
pert, and  Capt.  L.  E.  Campbell,  then 
({uartermastei'  at  Fort  Logan,  set  out  in 
the  president's  private  car  for  Wagon 
Wheel  Gai>,  which  was  at  that  time 
the  terriiinus  of  the  track.  Captain 
Campbell  had  turned  the  traffic  of  the 
post  to  the  ''Scenic  Line"  and  in  a  lit- 
tle while  a  warm  friendship  sprang  up 
between  him  and  the  railway  manage- 
ment, the  result  of  which  has  proved 
very  beneficial  to  all   concerned. 

Arriving  at  Wagon  Wheel  Gap,  the 
party  set  out  in  stages  for  the  Holy 
Moses,  a  distance  of  ten  miles.  The 
road  lay  along  the   grassy  banks  of  the 


cnAi'iKn  will. 


\'M 


Kio  (irjiiidc,  one  of  the  prettiest  streams 
in  tli(^  West.  A  ride  tliroULrli  such  i\ 
beautiful  country  could  not  ])e  tii'esonie, 
and  ])efor(i  tliey  bei^'an  to  feel  the  fa- 
tigue of  the  journey,  they  reached  the 
claim. 

It  took  but  a  short  time  to  convince 
the  speculators  that  tln^  Ab)s«'s  was  good 
property,  and  before  leaving,  a  bond 
was  secured  at  seventy  thousand  dollars. 
Returning  to  Denver,  the  property  was 
divided.  Mr.  Moffat  took  one  half,  the 
other  lialf  l)eing  divided  between  Cap- 
tain Campbell,  Mr.  Eb  Smith,  Mr.  S. 
T.  Smith,  who  was  tlien  general  mana- 
ger of  the  Denver  it  llio  (irande 
Railroad  Company,  and  Mr.  Walter  S. 
Cheesman,  at  that  time  a  director,  eacli 
paying  in  pro[)ortion  to  what  he  got. 
Most  of  the  men  interested  in  this  new 
venture  were  very  busy,  and  they  were 
at    a   loss   to    know    what    to    do   for  a 


r 


'I 


m 
HI 


m 

*•!:!* 


r^ 


I  t 


I  :\s 


rilK  rHitSI'KCTnU. 


\    ' 


I    ' 


n'li.'iMc  iMMii  to  iii.'iii.'iuf<'  tlir  property. 
Ahout  that  liiiic  Captain  CaiiiplM'll 
Hccurcd  a  vrars  IcaNr  of  aljsciicc  fi'oiii 
the  ai'iiiy  and  look  up  liis  I'csidciicc  at 
tlx'  iK'W  camp.  A  coiMfoi'taMc  cottage 
WAS  Imilt  in  tlic  IxNiutiful  \allcy,  just 
wlicic  tlic  West  AN'illow  pours  licr 
crystal  flood  into  tlic  Uio  (rrandc,  and 
here  tlie  (Campbells  liad  tlieir  lioine. 
Mi'S.  Campbell,  who  is  a  niece  of  Mrs. 
(xeueral  (irant,  had  lived  many  years 
in  AVasliington,  Imt  slu;  appeared  as 
much  at  home  in  Creede  camp  as  she 
did   in  the  Capital. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Here's  a  land  where  nil  are  vqiinl, 

Of  high  find  lowly  birth  ; 

A  land  whoro  men  nmko  millions 

Dug  from  the  dreary  earth. 

Hero  the  meek  and  mild-eyed  hurros 

On  mineral  iMOuntainfl  feed. 

It's  day  all  day  in  the  day-timo. 

And  there  is  no  night  in  (.'reedo. 

The  clifl's  are  solid  silver, 
With  wondrous  wealth  untold  ; 
And  the  beds  of  the  running  rivers 
Are  lined  with  purest  gold. 
While  the  world  is  tilled  with  sorrow 
And  hearts  must  break  and  bleed, 
It's  day  all  day  in  the  day-time, 
And  there  is  no  night  in  Creede. 

CREEDE      OAMP THE     NEW     FIELD INCOU- 

rOIlATION     OF    THE     AMKTIIYST. 

AS  nianagor  of  tlie  Holy  Moses,  (yjip- 
taiii  Campbell  employed  Mr.  (^reede, 
in  •  whom  lie  had  implicit   confidence,   to 

prospect,  on    a    salary,   with    the   under- 

139 


^11 

"1. 


m 


I 


1 


140 


THE   riiOSPECTOIi. 


I? 


Htandiiig  that  tlie  prospector  should 
have  one  third  of  what  was  found. 
Creede  had  a  world  of  faith  in  the 
country,  and  had  imparted  this  confi- 
dence to  the  Captain. 

An  ordinary  mortal  would  have  been 
satisfied  with  thii'ty-five  thousand  dol- 
lars, but  Creede's  dream  liad  not  yet 
been  realized.  The  prophecy  made  in 
his  last  letter  to  his  old  partners  had 
not  been  fulfilled.  He  had  now  enough 
to  keep  him  when  old  age  should 
come  upon  him,  and  laying  his  little 
fortune  aside  for  a  rainy  day,  he 
started  out  with  the  intention  of  wast- 
ing his  grub-stake,  his  salary  and  his 
time. 

As  if  he  would  lose  all  trace  of  the 
Moses  vein,  he  passed  over  a  low  divide 
and  began  to  toil  up  the  steep,  densely- 
wooded  side  of  Bachelor  Mountain. 
How  many  miles   this  man   had   walked 


CriAPTEIi   XIX. 


141 


in  the  wilds  of  the  moiiiitains,  alone 
with  Nature  and  Nature's  God  !  Tlie 
frosts  of  fifty  winters  have  touched  his 
face  and  there  are  streaks  of  gray  in 
his  soft,  thin  hair.  At  his  heels  is 
the  faithful  dog.  lie,  too,  has  seen 
his  share  of  service,  and  is  as  gray  as 
his  master. 

The  mountain  gets  its  name  from  the 
Bachelor  mine  which  was  one  of  the 
first  discoveries.  This  claim  Avas  lo- 
cated by  a  Mr.  Bennett  in  the  year, 
1885.  Mr.  John  Herrick,  a  jolly  bach- 
elor of  Denver,  formerly  of  New  York, 
had  been  pounding  away  in  this  claim 
for  several  years  ;  l)ut  not  until  th(i 
mountain  had  given  up  millions  to 
others,  did  he  wrest  a  fortune  from  her 
rugged  breast. 

Slowly  up  the  mountain-side  tlie  lone 
prospector  worked  his  way.  Some  float 
was    found    and    traced    along   through 


I 


H, 


142 


THE    I'liOSPECTOn. 


Ill 
III 


n 

i'l 


t'^ 


(» 


the  lieavy  forest.  N<)\\-  and  tlien  tlie 
great  I'ootH  of  tbe  pine  trees  forced 
some  rich-looking  rock  to  tlie  surface, 
and  th(}  pi-ospector  was  tempted  to  stop 
and  dig,  but  the  float  kept  cropping 
out.  There  was  mineral  in  that  mount- 
ain and  he  would  follow  the  outcro])- 
ping  until  it  disapj^eared. 

Already  the  prospector  began  to 
dream  day-dreams  of  fortune  and  fame. 
Slowly  u})  the  mountain  he  toiled,  find- 
ing fresh  signs  of  wealth  at  every  stej). 
Once  in  a  while  the  temptation  to  stop 
was  so  great,  that  it  was  almost  irre- 
sistible ;  but  still  he  went  on.  When 
half-way  up  the  long  slope,  the  out- 
croj)pings  disa])peared  and  he  turned 
back.  lli«  trained  eye  soon  led  them 
to  the  proper  jdace  and  before  the  sun 
went  down  that  day,  Ci-eede  liad  laid 
the  foundation  for  the  fortune  of  not 
less  than   a  half  dozen  people. 


KU 


VIIAPTEU   XIX. 


14.'. 


The   new    fin<]     was  called    tlie   Ame- 
thyst, and    upon    thi^    vein    are    located 
now     the     Last      Chance,     New     York 
Chance,  the   Bachelor    and  a  nnmber   of 
other   valuable    chiMns     that   are   worth, 
or     will      he     when     silver  ^^^^f^^*^ 
is   remonetized.    from    one     ^'^^-^^ 
to    five    million    dol- 
lars   apiece. 

In  May,  1892,  the 
Amethyst  Mining 
Company  was  in- 
corporated. 

Mr.  D.  H.   Moifat 
was    el  ected    p  r  e  s  i  d 
N.  C.    Creede,  vice-president;       mr.  allenbv, 

•"oremaii  of  the  Aint-iibist. 

n  alter  S.  Cheesman,  secretary  and  treas- 
urer, and  Captain  L.  E.  Campbell,  gen- 
eral manager.  A  trannvay  was  built 
to  carry  the  ore  from  the  mine  to  the 
Denver  <fe  Rio  Grande  Railroad  Com- 
pany's  track,  which    cost    the    Amethyst 


11 


\ 


144 


THE    I'liOSl'KVTOIt. 


It 
1 1 


If 


comp'Uiy  many  tliousaiids  of  dollars. 
Splemlid  shaft  and  ore  houses  were 
built  at  the  mine,  making  almost  a  little 
city  where  Creede  had  walked  through  a 
wihierness  of  pines.  The  Last  Chance, 
adjoining  the  Amethyst,  owned  by  Sen- 
ator E.  O.  Wolcott,  and  others,  spent  a 
fortune  in  development  work  ;  but  the 
mine  has  yielde<l  millions  to  its  owners. 
To  Mr.  Jacob  Sanders  of  Leadville  is 
due  the  credit  for  having  organized  the 
Last  Chance  Mining  Company,  one  of 
the  strongest  in  the  camp. 

When  the  news  of  the  incorporation 
of  the  Amethyst  Mining  Company  went 
out  to  the  world,  many  inquiries  were 
made  by  brokei-s  for  stock  ;  but  none 
was  ever  offered  for  sale. 

The  capital  stock,  five  million  dollars, 
is  divided  as  follows  ;  Mr.  Creede  owns 
one  third,  Mr.  Moffat  one  third,  Captain 
Campbell   one   sixth,   Mr.   S.    T.    Smith 


ClIAPTEli    XIX. 


145 


and  Mr.  Chei'sinan,  a  twelfth  oacii. 
Wl)eii  the  statt'iiu'iit  is  made  that  this 
mine  for  some  time  paid  a  monthly  div- 
idend of  ninety  thousand  dollars,  it  is 
easy  to  figure  the  daily  income  of  any 
or  all  of  the  gentlemen  interested  in  the 
property.  What  a  striking  example  for 
the  monometallist  who  argues  that  silver 
can  l)e  produced  at  a  profit  at  the  pres- 
ent prices;  but  it  stands  as  a  well- 
known  fact,  that,  taking  the  wholes 
output  of  Creede  camp  from  the  <late 
of  the  discovery  of  the  Amethyst  vein  to 
the  present  time,  every  ounce  of  silver 
that  has  gone  down  the  Rio  Grande  has 
cost  the  producers  more  than  a  dollar. 
Of  the  army  of  prospectors  who  lose 
themselves  in  the  hills  every  spring, 
nothing  is  ever  heard,  except  of  the  very 
few  who  find  a  fortune.  Among  the  gam- 
bling dens  in  a  mining  camp,  the  scores 
of  men  who  lose  from  one  to  one  thou- 


»  Q 


I 


4 


liji 


14(; 


THK    PltOai'KVTOli. 


',' 


sand  (lollaiK  every  night  keep  their  own 
.secit't;  Imt  let  one  man  win  a  hundred, 
and  you  will  hear  the  bar])er  tell  the 
city  marshal  that  "  lledy  Quartz  ])roke 
de  ])ank  at  Banigan's  las'  night,  too 
easy."  Mining  and  prospecting  are  only 
legitimate  gambling,  and  it  is  the  tens 
of  thousands  of  little  losers  that  keep 
the  game  going. 


} 


»  ■ 

1-1, 


i 


'^i 


1 


t>: 


CIIAPTEU  XX. 

WANDEIIIXd    IN   TIIT    WILDS  —  AM()\(J     i'lIK 

MILKS      OF      MOUNTAINS ItENP^ATII      A 

SUMMEU    SKY. 


r 


A  WAY  in  the  hills,  fear  above  the 
bluebells,  where  the  day  dawned 
early  and  the  sunlight  lingered  when 
the  day  was  done,  the  lone  prospector 
had  his  home.  Ai  times  he  would  have 
a  prospecting  partner  ;  but  often  for 
months  he  lived  alone  in  the  hills,  with 
no  companion  save  his  faithful  dog,  wlio 
for  thirteen  years  followed  silently 
where  his  master  led.  One  day  while 
talking  of  his  past  experiences,  the  pros- 
pector said :  "  When  I  try  to  taste 
again  the  joy  that  was  mine  v/heii  I 
first  learned  that  I  was  a  millionaire, 
I  am  disappointed.     Like  Mark  Twain's 

dime,    it    could    be    enjoyed    but    once. 

147 


I 


]4i<> 


TiiK  i'U(tsn:(iini. 


Ml 


■'J 


ii, 


(Jri'iit  joys,  lik<'  <^r«'{it  snn*o\v»s,  arc  soon 
foi'L'ottcii  ;  hut  tlicrc^  Jirc  thiMy:s  that 
arc  as  fresh  in  my  memory  as  if  these 
years  had  been  ])Ut 
moments.  I  shall 
never    foi'^et 


the  many  beautiful  spois  where  my 
little  dog  and  I  have  camped  —  al- 
ways on  the  sunny  soutli  hills  where 
the  sun  coaxed  the  grass  to  grow  and 
the  flowers  to  blow,  often,  it  seemed,  a 


CIIM'TKIi    XS. 


lf.> 


V 


nioiitli  nhcjul  of  tiiiu*.  Wlu-ii  \vr  lia<l 
iiijuN*  our  cjiiiij),  soinctinics  wr  would  u;o 
jiwjiy  for  a  day  or  two,  and  upon  oui* 
I'cturn,  we  would  lind  tlic  llttli^  wild 
flowci'M  ])loo!uini(  l)y  our  door.  Often, 
now,  wIhmi  we  luive  finislicd  our  mid- 
day dinner  of  porterhouse  and  pie,  I 
sit  on  the  stoop  in  tlie  sunlii^lit,  my 
faithful  dog  at  my  feet,  and  as  1  smoke 
a  fifty-cent  cigar,  my  mind  wanders  ])ack 
over  memory's  trail. 


1*1 


^  € 


I  hear  the  song  of  brooklets, 
The  inurmuriugs  of  the  wiucls; 
I  smell  the  smell  of  summer, 
Hear  the  whispering  of  the  pines. 

I  seem  to  see  the  sunset ; 
In  fancy  I  behold 
The  hoary  hills  above  me, 
Uobed  in  a  garb  of  gold. 

I  give  an  extra  cookie 
To  this  dear  old  dog  of  mine; 
As  he  shared  the  shadow, 
So  shall  he  share  the  shine. 


i, 


150 


TIIK  riKJSl'KCTOU. 


It 


Ami  U8  I  Hiiiuko  niid  Ioho  me, 
III  the  (lays  that  Inivo  mmo  by, 
Aiiiuiig  tlio  iiiiloH  of  inotintaiiis 
Beneath  a  suminor  Hky, 

The  smoke  of  my  llavanua. 
As  it  slowly  floats  away, 
Is  freighted  with  the  odor 
Of  my  long-lost  pipe  of  clay. 

And  I  give  an  extra  cookie 
To  tliis  poor  old  dog  of  mine ; 
For  he  has  shared  the  shadow, 
Aud  he  shall  share  the  shine. 


CIIAPTEU  XXI. 

DKVKLOPMKXT    OK      CIJKKDK — SAW      A     CITY 

SIMM  NO      IP      ALMOST      I\       A        DAY AX 

lllJNDKKl)    GAMHLEKS   CAMK    TIIKUK,    TOO. 


I 


Ml 


NOAV  let  tli(^  weary  prospector  sit 
down  and  rest.  His  dream  lias 
been  realized  ;  his  prophecy  fulfilled. 

The  o2)ening  of  the  Amethyst  vein 
called  for  the  extension  of  the  Denver 
&  Rio  Grande  Railway  Company's  track 
from  Wagon  Wheel  Gap,  a  distance  of 
ten  miles. 

About  this  time,  President  Moffat  and 
the  General  Manager  got  into  an  en- 
tanglement with  the  directory  and  both 
resigned.  Mr.  George  Ooppell,  chairman 
of  the  board,  came  out  from  New  York 
and  took  charge  of  the  property. 

Mr.     Moffat     and     others      interested, 


h 


151 


mm 


152 


TF!E   PROSPECTOR. 


urged  the  management  to  extend  the 
rails  to  the  new  camp.  Among  those 
interested  in  the  extension  was  Senator 
Wolcott,  counsel  for  the  company  ;  but 
it  is  as  difficult  for  a  New  York  cap- 
italist to  apprecijite  the  importance  of  a 
silver  camp  as  it  is  for  him  to  aj^preci- 
ate  the  value  of  a  silver  dollar,  so  Mr. 
Coppell  refused  to  build  the  line. 

Mr.  Moffat  then  put  up  thirty-six 
thousand  dollars  to  build  the  extension, 
agreeing  to  let  the  railroad  company 
repay  him  in  freight. 

Soon  after  this  Mr.  E.  T.  Jeffrey  was 
elected  president  and  general  manager 
of  the  road.  Probably  no  man  in 
America  could  have  taken  up  the  tools 
laid  down  by  Moffat  and  Smith  and  con- 
tinue the  good  work  begun  >v  them, 
with  so  little  friction  as  did  the  present 
president  of  the  Denver  &,  Rio  Grande 
Railroad  Company.     To  till    the    places 


CIIArTKR    XXI. 


V)^ 


t\ 


vacated  l)y  these  pojuilai'  officials  was 
no  liglit  task.  Tlie  gi-aiul  stand  was 
packed  and  the  voters  liehl  tlie  bleach- 
ers, when  President  Jeffrey  went  to  the 
bat. 

Colorado  said  "  Play  l)all,"  and  in  the 
first  inning  lie  won  the  respect  of  th(^ 
other  players  and  the  ai)planse  of  the 
people.  He  has  been  successful  because 
he  deserved  success. 

Three  months  after  the  completion  of 
the  line  to  Creede,  each  train  brought 
to  the  camp  fi'om  two  hundred  to  three 
hundred  people,  all  the  side-tracks  were 
blocked  with  freight  and  a  ceaseless 
stream  of  silver  was  flowins:  into  the 
treasury  of  the  Denver  tfe  Rio  Grande 
Railroad  Company.  The  lucky  pros- 
pector built  a  cozy  ca})in  in  the  new 
camp  and  saw  a  city  spring  up  almost 
in  a  day.  Just  where  the  trains  pulled 
in,    you    might    see    him   sitting    by  the 


Is 


HB 


154 


THE  PliOSPKCTOR. 


cottage  door,  smoking  a  cigar,  wliilo  tlie 
little  old  dog  who  had  just  finished  a 
remarkably  good  breakfast,  trotted  stiff- 
legged  lip  and  down  the  porch  and 
wondered  why  they  did  n't  go  out  any 
more  and  hunt  in  the  hills. 


(»l 


CHAVTKli   XXI. 


l;").""* 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  CREEDE. 

A  thousand  burdened  burros  filled 
The  narrow,  winding,  wriggling  trail. 

An  hundred  settlers  came  to  build 
Each  day  new  houses  in  the  vale. 

An  hundred  gamblers  came  to  feed 

On  these  same  settlers— this  was  Croede. 

Slanting  Annie,  Gambler  Joe 

And  Robert  Ford  ;  Sapolio— 
Or  Soapy  Smith,  as  he  was  known — 

Ran  games  peculiarly  their  own  ; 
And  ev^erything  was  open  wide 
And  men  drank  absinth  on  the  side. 


And  now  the  Faro  bank  is  closed, 
And  Mr.  Faro's  gone  away 

To  seek  new  fields— it  is  supposed- 
More  verdant  fields.    The  gamblers  say 

The  man  who  worked  the  shell  and  ball 

lias  gone  back  to  the  Capital. 


%\ 


»;i 

V 


ir)r, 


THE  rnosPKcToii. 


I 


The  wiiiler  winds  blow  bleak  and  chill, 
Tlic  (iiiakin«^,  quivering  aspen  waves 

About  lliu  suuiinit  of  the  liill ; 
Above  the  unrecorded  graves 

Where  halt,  abandoned  burros  feed 

And  coyotes  call— and  this  is  Creede. 

Lone  graves  I  whose  head-boards  bear  no  name, 
Wliose  silent  owners  lived  like  brutes 

And  died  as  doggedly,  but  game, — 
And  most  of  them  died  in  their  boots. 

We  mind  among  the  unwrit  names 

The  man  who  murdered  Jesse  James. 

We  saw  him  murdered — saw  him  fall, 

And  saw  his  mad  assassin  gloat 
Above  him.    Heard  his  moans  and  all. 

And  saw  the  shot  holes  in  his  throat. 
And  men  moved  on  and  gave  no  heed 
To  life  or  death— and  this  is  Creede. 

Slanting  Annie,  Gambler  Joe 

And  Missouri  Bob  are  sleeping  thero  ; 
But  slipi)ery,  sly  Sapolio, 

Who  seems  to  shun  the  Golden  Stair, 
Has  turned  his  time  to  loftier  tricks- 
He's  doing  Denver  politics. 


CHAPTER  XXTI. 

WEARING     Ills    WEALTH ATTIIACTS     THE 

ATTENTION     OF      AUVENTUKESSKS LOS 

AN(JELES. 


'T'O  one  who  lias  lived  almost  alone 
and  unknown  for  a  half  hundred 
years,  the  change  from  obscurity  to  no- 
toriety and  fame  is  s^vift  and  novel. 
Mr.  Creede  realized  that  he  was  attract- 
ing the  attention  of  the  world,  especially 
the  fair  ones  in  search  of  husbands,  in 
a  very  short  time. 

In  his  little  den  up  the  Gulch  he  had 
a  collection  of  letters  that  were  interest- 
ing reading.  They  came  from  t\u-  four 
corners  of  the  earth  ;  from  women  of 
every    tongue,    and     almost    every    walk 

of  life. 

157 


iij 


158 


THK   riiOSPKCTOIi. 


\\ 


The  firnt  one  I  saw  was  from  a 
St.  Louis  l)lay  actress,  who  sent  photos 
in  which  her  left  foot  stands  at  six 
oVlock,  her  riglit  five  fifty-five.  Iler 
hair  was  short  and  cut  curly.  She  said 
she  was  "  dead  weary  of  the  stage,"  and 
that  with  the  prospector's  money  and 
her  experience,  they  could  double  up 
and  do  the  world  in  a  way  that  would 
make  the  swells  of  "  Parie "  take  to  the 
woods,  and  there  was  nothing  the  mat- 
ter with  his  coming  on  and  she  would 
meet  him  on  the  Q.  T.,  and  if  she  failed 
to  stack  up,  he  could    cash  in  and  quit. 

July  11,  1802.  A  Khode  Island 
preacher    writes   to  ask  for  help. 

'•  Doubtless,"  he  began,  "  you  have  many  letters 
from  people  upon  whom  the  cares  of  life  press 
heavily,  and  it  must  be  a  source  of  great  annoy- 
ance." 

After  dwelling  at  some  length  upon 
his   deplorable   condition,  there  was   a — 


CHAl'TKIi  XXII. 


151> 


I 
I  1 


"P.  8.— If  you  can't  i^eiul  money,  picnso  send  me 
a  suit  of  cast-off  clothes,  and  greatly  oblige. 

Yours  truly, 

"  N.  B.— I  send  measure,  so  that  you  can  get  an 
idea  of  what  size  I  need.  Breast  37,  waist  :i2,  leg 
33." 

May  17,  1893.  A  woman  with  a  nose 
for  lucre  and  a  cold  nerve,  writes  from 
Waxahacliie  to  ask  the  lucky  prospector 
to  "  come  down  and  look   at  her  dauirh- 


1? 


ter. 

"  She  is  a  perfect  beauty  ;  has  a  good  solo  voice, 
but  is  a  little  lazy.  She  has  not  quite  developed, 
being  only  thirteen  years  old  ;  but  if  you  will  take 
a  look  at  her  you  will  change  your  mind.  She's  a 
beauty.  She  wants  to  go  to  Italy  or  France  and 
study  music  and  if  you  will  help  to  educate  her 
you  may  have  her." 

What  a  cold-blooded  proposition  is 
this,  soliciting  as  a  horse  trader  would 
for  some  one  who  has  a  fortune  to  take 
a  look  at  her  child  thirteen  years  old  ! 

A  lady  writes  from  Canada  to  borrow 
three   thousand  dollars   to   buy  a  tarm. 


I'M 


j'f  n 


m 


I  (10 


TIIK  I'noSI'KCTOli. 


and  .'kMs  that  cric  man  slioiiid  not  ltav(> 
so  much   money. 

An  am1)itious  yonni^^  Kn^lishman,  wIjo 
is  in  lovi'  witli  the  "])r('tti('st  girl  in 
Hold  llcngland/'  writt's  for  a  "few  'un- 
drcd  to  bring  Vr  hover  with." 

July  <S,  18',)l',  at  C<duml)us,  Ohio,  a 
widow  writes  the  best  letter  of  them 
all. 

"  Deak  Mr.  Creede  : —  Having  seen  by  the  papers 
that  y's  hav  lots  av  money,  an'  a  good  dispositiou 
I  write  y's  to  ask  a  favor.  No  it's  not  money  I 
wants,  nor  do  I  Avaut  y's  to  marry  me.  I  was  as  far 
west  as  Colarado  wanct,  saw  the  Vergini  Mine  in 
Uray  County  an'  its  Terrable  in  1888.  Shure  it  was 
terrable,  too  ;  for  then  I  lost  the  best  friend  av  me 
life  —  the  foreman  of  the  Terrable,  he  died. 

"  After  that  it  seemed  I  had  no  friends  at  tall  a 
tall,  an'  I  came  back  to  Columbus.  Nearly  I  forgot 
to  say  I  wus  married  wanct— but  mind,  I'm  not  wan 
av  thim  grassy  widdies  —  I'm  bonyficd.  Shure  if  I 
was  as  shure  of  another  as  I  am  that  Pat  is  dead, 
shure  I  wo'n't  be  wastin'  me  time  writin'  to  ye. 
Nearly  I  forgot  to  sa^'  that  what  I  want  av  ye  is  to 
find  me  a  good  thru  and 'onest  husband.  I've  lost 
all  fait  in  these  wishy-washy  judes  here.     Gimme 


CIlAl'TKli  XMl. 


iiU 


the  rough  and  ojicst  liaiid  of  the  iiiountuin,  :iii(1 
tnkcftway  your  louj^-tinnls  judcs. 

"ConipHnitively  spciikiu'.  \  was  born  in  the  North 
of  Ireland  an'  am  a  happy  disposilion. 

"ItenicMubher,  the  man  must  bo  noblo,  'onest  an' 
thru.    Please  write  lo  me  booh. 

Very  respectfully  yours," 


"N.B.— After  readin'  this  1  seel  was  about  to 
leave  o«it  the  most  impartent  part.  Now  if  you 
can't  lind  a  man  with  all  these  good  qualities  an' 
money  too,  I'll  take  the  one  w Id  the 'onest,  thru  and 
noble  carocther.  Money  can  niver  buy  happiness 
an'  love,  an'  that  I  pri/o  above  everything  else.  I 
want  a  man  not  Ifss  than  forty  as  he  should  begin 
to  have  some  since  by  that  time. 

Wauct  more  I  am,  Yours  truly, 


Up  to  the  writing  of  tliese  pages,  the 
mails  continue  to  bring  loads  of  letters 
from  all  sorts  of  cranks.  Those  from 
women. are  turned  over  to  Mrs.  Creede  ; 
but  only  a  very  few,  of  course,  are  an- 
swered. 

In  that  poet's  Paradise  ;  that  dreamy 
lotus-land,    Southern    California,    Ci'eede 


162 


TIIK  rUitSl'HL'TOli. 


I 

li 

it 


has  Ijouglit  IX  bcjiiitifiil  home.  Tt  ntands 
juHt  at  th(}  end  of  Sixth  street  on  Pearl, 
HurroiiiidtMl  hy  troi)it'al  trci's,  vines  and 
flowers.  Here  tlui  balmy  breezes  bring 
down  the  scent  of  cedar  from  the  hills  to 
the  north,  and  the  soft  sea- winds  creep 
across  the  lea  fi'om  the  ocean -edge.  It's 
a  pretty  jdace  —  a  pleasant  place  for 
weary  })ilgrims  to  rest,  beyond  the  waste 
of   a  sun-dried  sea  — 

O'er  which  he  toiled,  a  sea  of  san^  before  him, 
Dead  snakes  aud  withered  toads  lay  on  his  way  ; 
The  desert  sun,  red,  awful,  hanging  o'er  h  m 
The  livelong  day. 

And  lo,  at  last  there  breaks  upon  his  vision 
A  paradise  with  flowers  and  tropic  trees, 
Cool,  crystal  streams  that  flow  throw  fields  elysian ; 
Los  Angeles. 


I 


) 


n 
W 

m 
o 
« 

CO 

»— ( 

o 
« 

o 

w 

o 

O 
W 

« 
to 

n 

> 


\  'fell  ; 


I  I 


